Blood Loyalty
by E.A. Week
Summary: The murder of a popular actor in Corinth turns up a most unlikely suspect.
1. Default Chapter

Title: **Blood Loyalty**

Author: E.A. Week

E-mail: eaweek@hotmail.com

Summary:  The murder of a popular actor in Corinth turns up a most unlikely suspect.

Category: Adventure, drama.  _X:WP/ __H:TLJ crossover._

Distribution: Feel free to link this story to any _Xena/ Hercules or fanfic site, or distribute on a mailing list, but **please** drop me at least a brief e-mail and let me know you've done this._

Feedback: Letters of comment are always welcome! Loved it? Hated it? Let me know why!

Disclaimer: All the _Hercules_ and _Xena_ characters belong to Rob Tapert, Sam Raimi, and Renaissance Pics.  I'm just borrowing them, honest! : )

Datclaimer: Rated PG-13 for fight scenes and implied violence.

Possible spoilers: This story takes place somewhere in the fifth season of _X:WP and the sixth season of __H:TLJ._

Note:  This story is a sequel to Consequences.  It was originally posted at Tom's Xena Page (www.xenafan.com) in 1998.  **This is an edited version.**

"A little more than kin, and less than kind."  --Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

Part I

            "Sorry," said the headwoman cheerfully, setting a trencher of food before Xena.  "We don't have a metalsmith here.  The village is too small," she explained, setting a second trencher in front of Gabrielle.  "We usually go over to Metion in Hyettus, but he mostly makes horseshoes and farm tools.  If it's weapons you're after, you'll need a smith in one of the bigger towns."  She wiped her hands on her skirt.

"Thanks anyway," said Xena, picking up a drumstick.  

Across the table, Gabrielle tore off a chunk of bread.  "And thank you for lunch," she added.

"The least I could do," said the woman.  "I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't come along.  The whole village might've burned down."

"It's nothing," Gabrielle assured her, picking up a beaker of ale and taking a thirsty gulp.  "We do it every day, right Xena?"

The warrior grunted her assent around a mouthful of chicken.

The two women had been traveling across southern Boiotia for some days.  A cloud of smoke and shrieks of dismay had drawn them to this village, where they found a fire rapidly consuming one of the thatched huts.  The fast thinking of Xena and Gabrielle had prevented the fire from spreading to the rest of the village.  They'd contained the fire to the one hut, which sadly couldn't be saved.  After making sure everyone was all right, Xena had wanted to leave, but the villagers had insisted on sharing their lunch as a gesture of gratitude.

Now they sat with the headwoman's family at a table outside in the clear, sunny day.  Xena chewed her food, watching the ruined hut smolder.  Thankfully, there wasn't much wind, otherwise, the entire village might have been engulfed.

A boy of about twelve ran into the village from a nearby field.  "Ma!" he shouted.  "What happened?"

"Diores!" the headwoman scolded.  "Where've you been?  We've been looking for you all morning!"

"Wow," said the boy, staring at the burned wreckage.  "Was there a fire?"

"Well, what does it look like?"  The woman put her hands on her hips, her expression softening slightly.  "Sit down and eat as long as you're here."  Her son wiggled onto the bench beside Gabrielle, who smiled at him and edged over to make some room.

"Wha' happened?" the boy asked, popping an olive into his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."  The headwoman handed her son a trencher, then sat opposite him.  "Mestra knocked over a cooking pot and set their house on fire."

"That klutz!" he laughed.

"Diores!"  The boy's mother gave him a disapproving look.

"It's true," he giggled.  "She knocks over everything."

"She can't help being clumsy," the headwoman chided.  "At least she was here to help put it out, which is more than you can say."

The boy colored up, but maintained his defiance.  He continued eating, then took in Xena as if only just noticing her.  He gazed at the hilt of her sword, visible over her shoulder, and at her armor.  "Who are you?"

The warrior smiled tolerantly.  "I'm Xena."

"Xena!" said the lad, eyes opening wide.  "The warrior?  Cool!  I heard you fought a giant lizard with twenty eyes and six heads that breathed fire and spit poison!"

Gabrielle choked on a piece of apple.

"I don't know who you've been talking to," said Xena.

"Cephalion, over in Hyettus," said Diores.  "He's a great storyteller!  He's going to a huge festival in Corinth next month.  There's gonna be a bard competition.  I bet he'll win first prize.  It's 200 dinars!  He says if he wins, he'll buy a pony and teach me how to ride."

"A festival in Corinth?" asked Gabrielle eagerly.

"Uh-huh.  A messenger just came through a few days ago and announced it."

"An arts festival," said the headwoman, a disapproving tone in her voice.  "Not something busy lads should have time for.  Corinth is a fortnight's travel from here.  Even if Cephalion wins, he'll spend most of his prize on food and lodging to get from here to there and back again.  He'd be better to do some honest work and save the stories for the fireside at night."

***

"A bard competition," said Gabrielle in a dreamy voice, her imagination clearly far away.  "Think what we could do with 200 dinars."

Xena made a noncommittal noise.

"Do you mind?" asked Gabrielle.  "We haven't been to Corinth since last year."

"Yeah, I know," said Xena.  She led Argo by the reins through a sunlit field of tall grass.  Gabrielle walked beside her.

"So?" the bard prodded.

"So, what?" Xena prevaricated.

"So, can we go to the festival?"  Gabrielle stopped walking and gave her friend a puzzled look.  "Is there some reason you don't want to go back to Corinth?"

"No," said Xena honestly.

"Well?"  Gabrielle could sense her hedging.

"All right," said the warrior at last.

"Great!" said Gabrielle, and she bounded across the meadow with a determined swing in her stride, heading due south.

***

"This place is a dump," Gabrielle complained in a low voice, glancing around the tavern, although 'tavern' seemed too grand a word to describe such a dirty hovel.  Still, it was the first place the women had encountered all day that served food.

"We've been in worse," Xena reminded her.

"Maybe tomorrow we should find somewhere to fish," said Gabrielle.  "This bread is stale, and the stew tastes like… like an old boot."

"The town's in rough shape," said Xena, taking in the dilapidated tables.  Many of the benches showed signs of frequent repair.  "The tavern's falling apart because there's no business to keep it going."

"Some of the other towns were like this," Gabrielle remarked, trying to choke down more stew.  She didn't dare guess what meat might be included in the lumpy mess.  The barkeep had said goat, but Gabrielle's taste buds told her otherwise.  "Everything's so run down."

"There's a lot of problems in Megarid," said Xena.  "Old King Autesion mis-managed the state for years; he spent too much time and money trying to build up an army, then he lost most of his men at Troy.  His son Periander is king now, and he isn't doing much better."  Xena eyed a forlorn old man in one corner of the room, slowly drinking himself into a stupor.  "People are leaving the state, either for Corinth or Attica."

"Can you blame them?" said Gabrielle.  "Who'd want to live here?"

The two finished as much of their meal as they could stomach and left the gloomy tavern, glad to be putting the town behind them.

***

"Are you sure you know this shortcut?" Gabrielle asked dubiously, looking around the woods.

"Positive," Xena responded.  The Amazon felt a twitch of exasperation.  Her sense of direction told her they ought to have crossed the state boundary into Corinth by now, and she swore Xena had deliberately set this meandering course to slow them.  Here in the woods, they couldn't ride Argo, and so they lost even more time.

"What's that?" said Gabrielle.  Xena raised a questioning eyebrow.

"That… up ahead."  Gabrielle pointed with her staff toward a rooftop, barely visible through the foliage.  "It's a house.  Come on, maybe they can give us directions."

Gabrielle walked more quickly, leaving Xena to follow.  She pushed her way through a dense thicket of undergrowth and emerged into what looked like a garden—or the remains of a garden.  Weeds choked the cultivated plants.  Here and there, Gabrielle spotted survivors:  vegetables, herbs, a few flowers.

Xena had to lead Argo around the thicket, and she emerged through a clearing on the other side of the garden.  "Looks deserted."

"Yeah," said Gabrielle.  "What a mess!"

Light came in through chinks in the roof, illuminating broken furniture, smashed crockery, animal droppings, leaves, dirt, and clear signs of vandalism.  This place had been empty for a while; vagabonds had taken whatever items of value the owners of the house might once have possessed.

Still, the dwelling showed evidence of sturdy construction.  Gabrielle tried to imagine what it might have looked like in its original condition.  The floor had been made from solid wooden planks, suggesting reasonable prosperity.  Most peasants built their homes right on the ground, saving valuable timber for the roof and walls.

The family would eat and work in this large, central area, Gabrielle thought.  She wandered into a smaller room, where she found the remains of a wooden bed frame.  She went back to the main room, then through a second doorway into another room.  Here the roof had partially collapsed, and debris cluttered the floor.

Something caught her eye, and she knelt down to pick up the piece of curved, polished wood.  Gabrielle ran her fingers over it, puzzled, then stood.

In the main room, Xena hunkered down, studying the floor with rapt scrutiny.

"Find anything?" asked Gabrielle.

"Yeah, I did.  Come look at this."  Gabrielle picked her way through the clutter and stood beside the warrior.

"So?  It's just dirt."

"Not this."  Xena ran two fingertips across the dark spot, then rubbed the brownish residue with her thumb.  "It's blood."

"Blood?" echoed Gabrielle, a rhetorical question.  Xena would never mistake blood for anything else.

"Yeah.  And look."  She pointed to similar dried splotches extending from the first, following the trail carefully until it ended at the base of a wall, where a much larger stain darkened the floorboards.  Gabrielle shuddered.

"Whoever it was, he probably got stabbed over there," said Xena, "and crawled over here, bleeding.  This is where he died.  It looks like he might've been stabbed again.  This is a lot of blood."

"That's horrible."  Gabrielle stared up at the sagging timbers of the ceiling, where bunches of dried herbs still hung.  She couldn't reconcile the cozy domesticity of the house with the evidence of such brutal violence.  "I wonder who it was?"

"There's no way to tell," said Xena, also staring around the forlorn dwelling.

"I feel like I've been here before," said Gabrielle suddenly.  "Isn't that strange?"

"Yeah," said Xena.  "I know what you mean."  She caught sight of the object in her friend's hand.  "What'd you find?"

"Just this," said Gabrielle, holding out her discovery.  "I found it in one of the other rooms."

Xena took the piece of wood and turned it over.  "It could be from the furniture," she said.  "But I don't think it is."  She handed the relic back to Gabrielle.  "It looks like it's from a lyre."

***

They left the house, retrieved Argo, and gladly put the macabre discovery at their backs.  A thread of a path led away from the dwelling, which the two women followed until it opened abruptly into a wider, well-traveled road.

Not much further on, the trees gave way to rolling meadows.  The women crested a hill and gazed down at a small, snug-looking village.

They continued down the road, and the village vanished from their sight.  The green, pleasant little hollow held another surprise: a young man standing near a pile of recently upturned earth by the side of the road, carefully positioning a wooden marker in the ground.

"Hello," he called, taking in the odd sight of two armed women and a horse.

"Hi," said Xena.  "I don't suppose whoever's buried there," she nodded toward the grave, "used to live in that house back down the road?"

"Yeah," said the man, visibly surprised.  "How'd you find the house?"

"We took a shortcut through the woods," said Gabrielle.  "We saw the blood on the floor," she added.  "Who was it?"

"A woman named Lavinia," said the youth.  "She lived there by herself.  I had a friend who used to tend sheep in this area," he went on, gesturing to the hills around them.  "His name's Jehan.  He used to look in on her; she was almost a mother to him.  One night, Jehan came to me, babbling and hysterical.  He said Lavinia had been murdered by her husband."

"Was she?" asked Xena.

"I don't know," said the young man.  "I've only lived in Tarpeia for a year.  I'm an apprentice to my uncle, a carpenter," he explained.  "But Jehan swore it was her husband.  He said he'd been on his way to visit Lavinia one evening and heard her scream.  He ran inside the house, but it was too late.  He tried to fight the killer, but only got himself wounded.  He tore off a piece of the bastard's shirt, though, and swore to me he wouldn't rest until he found the murdering swine."

"When did you last see him?" asked Xena.

"About two months ago.  Jehan asked me to bury Lavinia," the young apprentice went on.  "I just finished the marker today.  I have no idea where he's off to—on some wild goose chase.  Poor kid!  He loved Lavinia.  Hades take the bastard who killed her—a woman by herself in the middle of nowhere!"

"Did she have a family?" asked Gabrielle.

"Jehan said she had children, but they're grown up and gone.  You saw the house; it's falling to pieces."

"And the husband?" Xena probed.

"My uncle said her husband, Sciron, died in prison years ago.  Old King Autesion accused him of treason."  The carpenter shrugged.  "I don't know if it's true or not, but that's what everyone says."

Gabrielle held out the broken piece of lyre.  "Was this hers?"

The young man looked it over carefully.  "It might have been.  Jehan said she loved music."  He started to hand the wood back to Gabrielle, but she refused it.

"Leave it here," she said, watching as the youth pressed the broken instrument into the soil beside the grave marker.

"Did you know her?" Gabrielle asked curiously.

"I only met her once," the carpenter responded.  "Jehan took me to her house for dinner.  She was a sweet, gentle soul—a lovely woman, but timid as a mouse.  The house was falling apart.  Jehan wanted her to come live in the town, but the thought of so many people terrified her.  We promised to make some repairs on her house, but we never had a chance to."

"That's too bad," said Gabrielle.

"If you're traveling," said the young man, "could you keep an ear open for any word of Jehan?  I'd look for him myself, but my uncle…"  He trailed off.  "Good apprenticeships aren't easy to find in Megarid these days," he explained ruefully.

"Sure," said Xena.  "We'll be glad to."

***

            Xena and Gabrielle ate their lunch in a tavern the carpenter's apprentice recommended to them.  The town of Tarpeia, although small and unspectacular, appeared to be in far better condition than the places the two women had seen further north.

At least Xena no longer seemed to deliberately slow their progress, Gabrielle thought.  After they ate, she mounted Argo, drew Gabrielle up onto the horse behind her, and they continued south at a brisk pace.

The countryside came to life around them as they traveled.  Gabrielle saw cultivated fields, orchards, and vineyards, with farmers bringing in the year's harvest.  Teams of oxen overturned fields where the barley crops had already been reaped.  Occasionally, she spotted the thatched roofs of a village or the taller roofs of a town.  Goatherds and shepherds tended flocks in the open meadows.

As they traveled, Xena asked people they met if they'd seen or heard of Jehan, but nobody recognized the name.

The next day, the women rode into the largest town they'd encountered in their journey south.  They made their way slowly through a crowded market place, where farmers bartered their goods, and merchants tempted townspeople and farmers alike with an array of ready-made wares.

"What's that?" asked Gabrielle, nodding toward an impressive structure.

"Probably the overlord's mansion," said Xena.  "Phlegra's the capital of the province."

They hitched Argo to a post outside a tavern—a real tavern, Gabrielle noted with pleasure—and went inside.  Noisy patrons crowded the interior, and the women had to wait in a line before they reached the bar.  Behind the counter, a barkeep took orders for drinks while a woman, probably his wife, dispensed food.  A pair of boys, most likely the couple's children, tended the fires and ran errands.

Xena ordered mead for herself and Gabrielle, while the younger woman balanced trenchers of food.  They wove through the tables and finally found seats at a table occupied by two men, deep in conversation.  They barely looked up as the women sat.

"This is good," said Gabrielle, pulling apart a roasted pigeon.  The savory meat slipped easily off the bones.  The barley bread tasted like it had just come out of the oven, and the mead had been spiced to perfection.  "What a difference!"

The pair devoured their food without further conversation.  Gabrielle eavesdropped on the people sitting behind her, a habit she'd cultivated as a child and never abandoned.  Before she met Xena, such conversations had provided the basis for her stories.

As Gabrielle and Xena finished their meal, one of the men at the other end of the table departed, leaving his companion alone.  The young man drained his tankard, glanced with mild curiosity at the two women, then did a double-take.

"Hi," he said without preamble.  "Are you Xena, by any chance?"

The warrior set down her apple and extended an arm across the table.  "I am."

The man clasped her hand eagerly.  "I'm Josephus," he said.  "I'm the overlord of Phlegra."  Gabrielle's eyebrows went up; Josephus could scarcely be older than she.  On closer inspection, however, she saw that he wore well-made though unadorned clothing and carried himself with a quiet air of confidence.

"Good to meet you," said Xena.  She gestured to her companion.  "This is Gabrielle."

Josephus clasped Gabrielle's hand warmly.  "I've heard of you from your friends," he revealed.  "Hercules and Iolaus.  It's a pleasure to have you in Phlegra."  Gabrielle nodded, realizing Josephus was slightly older than she'd first guessed.  A round face and wavy, dark hair contributed to his boyish appearance.

"Maybe you can help us," said Xena.  "We're looking for a shepherd named Jehan, who disappeared from the town of Tarpeia two months ago.  Nobody between there and here has seen or heard of him.  He was said to be tracking down a man named Sciron."

Josephus pondered this a moment, then shook his head.  "I'm sorry, I can't help you," he said.  "I know every shepherd in this area, and none of them is named Jehan."

"He might be wounded," said Gabrielle.

"I haven't heard of anyone coming here to have an injury tended, either."

"The name Sciron isn't familiar?" asked Xena.

"No."  Josephus had a puzzled look in his eyes.  "But I almost feel as though it ought to be."

"He's rumored to have been thrown in prison for treason by old King Autesion," Xena supplied.

Josephus laughed then, a short, barking sound.  "Well, in that case, Jehan might as well go back to his flocks.  Anyone thrown in prison by Autesion never came out alive."

"What about the new king?" asked Gabrielle.  "Maybe the new king pardoned him?"

Now Josephus roared with laughter.  "Periander would be even less likely to let a prisoner go.  He's waited fifty years to take the throne of Megarid, and he's more interested in his own pleasures than running the state well."

"We came through Megarid on our way here," said Gabrielle.  "It's terrible.  We saw a couple of towns that had been completely abandoned."

"I know," Josephus nodded.  "We've had a lot of people come here from Megarid over the past five years.  Farmers, mostly, but some good craftsmen, too."

"Periander's losing money," observed Xena shrewdly.

"That's right," said Josephus.  "His sources of revenue are drying up, so he raises taxes on the luckless souls that are still in Megarid.  And every time he raises taxes, more people leave.  It's a vicious cycle.

"You'd think he'd see that," said Gabrielle.

"Well," said Josephus thoughtfully, "when Periander became king, Iphicles went to Megara, met with him, and talked to him about how he might get the state back on its feet again.  For a while, we thought Periander might actually be making some changes, but then he just seemed to give up."

"That's too bad," said Gabrielle.

"Well, it's been our gain," said Josephus philosophically.  "But I'm getting off the track here.  I wish I could help you, but I've never heard of Sciron, and I haven't seen any wounded shepherds.  But I'll have my people keep eyes and ears open for him."

"Thanks," said Xena.  Then she asked, "Do you have a good metalsmith in town?  My knife's broken and I need to replace it."

"Sure we do," said Josephus.  "But if you have time to go to Corinth, there's an excellent metalsmith in the city.  His work is first-rate."

"We're on our way there," said Gabrielle.  "We're going to the arts festival."

Josephus grinned.  "That should be a treat," he enthused.  "I wish I had time to go, but this is a busy time of year.  A lot of our merchants will be heading that way tomorrow.  There'll be good business to be had while the festival's running."

"Who's this metalsmith?" asked Xena.

"His name's Deucalion, a former soldier.  If you're looking for a weapon," said Josephus, glancing at the hilt of Xena's sword, "you won't find better work anywhere.  And his prices are fair."

"Thanks for the tip," said Xena.  She stood.  "It was good to meet you, Josephus."

"The pleasure's mine," Josephus responded.  "And please come back whenever you're in the area."

***

The two women made camp that evening near a spectacular waterfall.  They fished, cooked, ate, cleaned their things, bathed, and finally unrolled their bedding beside the fire.

Gabrielle shook out her leather satchel of scrolls and sorted through them.  Xena sat barefoot in her linen shift, sewing a tear in Argo's saddle blanket.  She watched as Gabrielle divided her scrolls into a large pile and a smaller pile, then put the larger pile back into the satchel.

"What story should I tell for the competition?" she asked aloud, more to herself than to Xena.  She picked up a scroll, then another, frowning slightly, returning them one by one to the satchel until only two remained.

"I'm down to two," she said as Xena finished working on the blanket.  "I can't decide whether to tell the story of Icus and his father or the one about Cecrops."

"Hmm," said Xena, stretching out on her bedroll.

"If I tell the story about Icus, do you think people will have a hard time with the idea of one god?" asked Gabrielle.

"They might," said Xena, but her thoughts seemed elsewhere.

"I could leave it ambiguous," said Gabrielle thoughtfully, tapping the scroll against the palm of her hand.  "They can assume the voice we heard was Zeus… or whoever."

"Hmm."

"Or maybe I should just tell the one about Cecrops," said Gabrielle, unrolling the scroll about the mariner.  "That's a good adventure story."  For an event such as this, Gabrielle wanted to tell a story that did not involve her personal life or Xena's, but still one where she felt that someone had learned an important lesson.  She thought that people would enjoy hearing how Cecrops had defeated Posiedon's curse by giving love rather receiving it.

"Xena?  What do you think?"  When Gabrielle received only silence as a reply, she glanced over and realized the warrior had fallen asleep.  Gabrielle smiled, tucked the scrolls back into her bag, and lay down to sleep also.

***

Shortly before noon the next day, they arrived in Corinth.  They joined a throng of people waiting to enter the city by its north gate.  Many of those in the line had wagons of goods or hand-carried baskets with them to sell.  With nothing to declare, the women entered the city easily and walked slowly through the crowds inside the gate.

"Wow," said Gabrielle.

After days of traveling through villages and small towns, cities tended to come as something of a shock.  Gabrielle always enjoyed Corinth—the wide, well-kept streets, the beautifully constructed buildings, the cheerful people, the general sense of order and prosperity.

They first stopped at a large stable, where visitors to the arts festival could leave their horses.  Xena saw to it that Argo would be well tended, then she and Gabrielle wandered toward the central square of the city.

The two women passed through what looked like a residential area.  Gabrielle looked up at the fine houses, wondering what it must be like to be wealthy enough to afford such splendid and urbane dwellings.  Over a lull in the noise on the streets, she heard the distinct sounds of a man's voice singing, a beautiful tenor.  She paused to listen, momentarily enchanted.  Then the voice broke off, and she heard laughter, a feminine voice mingling with the masculine one.  The voices faded; the couple had probably stepped away from the window.  Xena had walked on ahead, and Gabrielle hurried to catch up with her.

The entire population of the city and all the visitors seemed to have gathered in the marketplace.  The two women had to move slowly because of the crowds, but it gave them the opportunity to examine everything they passed.  Xena asked a fishmonger for directions to Deucalion's forge, and the woman pointed it out.

They made their way around the square, pausing from time to time at the displays of goods.  The smell of cooking food wafted through the air, making Gabrielle's mouth water.  From time to time, she detected the faint whiff of a wealthy woman's perfume or the fragrance of fresh flowers.  Above all, the pervasive scent of salt reminded her that the ocean lay just beyond the city walls.

Xena stepped into Deucalion's workshop.  Like most blacksmiths' shops, the front of the building was open to allow air to circulate.  At the center of the shop stood the glowing forge.  A tall, powerfully-built man thrust a long, flat piece of metal down into the red-hot embers.  The two women watched as he drew out the metal and lay it on an anvil, then began patiently working the metal into a blade with a hammer.  He lifted the weapon, eyed it critically, then lowered it into a vat of water.

He glanced up suddenly, noticing the two women for the first time.  "Can I help you?" he inquired in a surprisingly light voice.

"Yeah," said Xena, strolling forward, gazing about the shop with hungry eyes.  "I'm looking for a knife."

"Over on that wall."  Deucalion scrutinized Xena's armor and sword.  "Is this a weapon you're after?"

"Yeah," the warrior responded, her gaze roving over the impressive display.  Gabrielle stared at the collection: the knives ranged in size from tiny up through those that were almost swords.  She saw thick blades, thin blades, and hilts in a variety of shapes and sizes, some wooden, some metal.  She turned away with a grimace of distaste.  For reasons Gabrielle didn't like to dwell on, she hated knives.

She left Xena to shop and wandered over to the opposite wall.  Here, swords in an equally imposing assortment of shapes and sizes hung displayed in wooden racks.  Along the rear wall, Gabrielle saw spears, axes, and arrowheads—in all, enough metal to outfit a small army.

She paused, her attention drawn to an object on one of the shelves, set in among some metal spearheads.  A small figure of Hephaestus, she guessed, the god of the forge.  She stepped closer and picked it up.  The figure had been carved of black stone and polished to a high degree.  Gabrielle realized that the upraised arm held a sword, not a hammer.  The face bore no features, but she recognized with no difficulty the shape of the head and shoulders.  Ares.

She swiftly set down the figure, glancing at Deucalion's back.  If he'd been a soldier before he became a metalsmith, he might well have worshipped Ares.  The little figure, however, seemed to occupy no particular place of honor in the shop and gave no indication as to Deucalion's present religious activities.  Gabrielle sternly reminded herself that no matter her own experience, people had a right to revere whatever gods they pleased.  Resolutely, she turned away from the figure, but the scores of weapons, with all their potential for bloodshed, seemed to close in on her.

Gabrielle decided she'd had enough.  "I'll be in the vellum shop next door."  The fine leather, made of specially treated sheepskin, provided the source of her scrolls.  Gabrielle had become expert at bargaining for lesser pieces, the ends and scraps most merchants deemed too poor to sell profitably.  Perhaps she'd have some luck in acquiring a few new pieces today.

***

After her companion left, Xena turned her attention back to the display of knives.  She took down one, then another, testing each weapon for weight and balance and for fit in her hand.  Behind her, the metalsmith resumed his work.  Xena finally chose a knife she liked, one that would fit comfortably in her boot.  In combat, she tended to rely more on her sword, her chakram, and her hand-to-hand skills; the knife was a last resort, but she carried one nevertheless.

"Good choice," Deucalion commented, wiping his hands on his trousers.  A heavy leather apron protected his clothes from sparks.  He seemed well advanced into his middle years, but far from old.  Greying dark hair clung to his skull in a short, neat cap.  Xena studied his complexion thoughtfully.  Despite a suntan, the metalsmith's skin bore an underlying pallor that suggested ill health.

"How much?" she asked.

"Twenty dinars," he responded.  Xena lifted her eyebrows; she'd expected to pay twice that amount.  He saw the expression and smiled slightly.  Xena noted the poor condition of his teeth.  His horribly pitted and scarred face told her he'd suffered either from smallpox, acne, or both.  In spite of these disfigurements, Xena did not find him unattractive.  He had a well-shaped head, good bone structure, and very dark eyes.

"I do a lot of business," he said, moving around the forge to take Xena's money.  He limped slightly, favoring his left leg.  "I can keep my prices down."

"Josephus, in Phlegra, recommended you," said Xena, sliding the new weapon down into her boot.

"Ah, then I'll have to remember that the next time I see him," he said.  "Is there anything else you'll be needing?  Sharpen your sword?"  Xena shook her head.  Deucalion stared at her chakram.  "Do you mind my asking what that is?"

"It's called a chakram," she said, handing him the circular weapon.  Deucalion turned it over and over, admiring the workmanship with appreciative eyes, then handed it back.

"You throw it?" he inquired.  Xena nodded.  She pointed to a large block of wood set up in a rear corner of the shop, whose chewed-up condition announced its use for target practice.  Xena cast the chakram from her hand and sent it flying.  An instant later, the block of wood toppled to the floor in two pieces.

"Incredible," the metalsmith marveled.  Xena retrieved the weapon and set the wood blocks back up, one atop the other.  "I don't suppose I could interest you in anything else?"  He limped over to the wall of knives and drew down a pair of gauntlets, showing Xena the tiny knives concealed in sheathes in the leather.  "Throwing knives," he said, and gave her a demonstration, whipping one, then the other, at the target block.  The weapons whistled through the air and struck the wood almost noiselessly.

"I don't think so," said Xena reluctantly.  She already had enough weapons, and the chakram filled her need for one she could use at a distance.  She admired the throwing knives, keenly wishing for more money.  She wouldn't have minded owning such a pair of little beauties.

"Too bad," said Deucalion.  "If you change your mind, you know where I am."

Gabrielle suddenly reappeared.  "Xena?"

"Sure," said the warrior.  And to Deucalion, "Thanks."

***

Outside the shop, the two women nearly ran into a young man on his way in to see the metalsmith.  He wore the bright blue tunic of a palace guard and carried a sword at his waist.

"Gabrielle!" he exclaimed.  "Xena!  What brings you back to Corinth?"

For a moment, Gabrielle couldn't place him, then said, "Medon?"

"That's right," he responded, blue eyes shining.

"We're here for the arts festival," said Gabrielle.

"Are you entering the bard competition?" he asked.

"Of course!" said Gabrielle.  "I wouldn't miss it."

"That's wonderful," said Medon, glancing back and forth between the two women.  "Good luck."  He paused.  "Have you been to the palace?  King Iphicles would love to see you both again."

"No," Gabrielle responded.  "We just got here."

"Well, come on," he said, turning in the direction of the palace, his errand to Deucalion evidently forgotten.  "It's almost time for lunch."

"Sure," said Gabrielle, falling into step beside him.  Xena walked behind the pair.  "I hope he'll let me look in the library again."

"He'll let you do anything," laughed Medon.  "You helped save his life."  Medon had been on duty the day that Xena had gone with Autolycus to rescue Iphicles from the hands of ruthless outlaws.  Gabrielle had joined the battle later, and she had helped to bear the horribly wounded king back to Corinth.  Medon had helped carry Iphicles from the wagon up to the royal quarters.  Gabrielle shuddered at the memory.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Busy," said Medon.  "Do you remember the next morning, when we were all expecting news that he'd died, and he walked into the kitchen as if nothing had happened, asking for breakfast?"

She laughed.  "Poor Falafel almost fainted."

"We all did," said Medon.  "We should have known that somehow Hercules would find a way to have his brother healed."

"Yeah," said Gabrielle, letting Medon persist in his belief that Hercules had intervened with the gods on his brother's behalf.  In truth, a fluke of luck had saved Iphicles, and nothing more.

The trio approached the palace.  The guards at the gate nodded to Medon.  The men looked vaguely familiar to Gabrielle; she recalled their faces, if not their names, from her last visit.  Inside the gate, Medon asked another guard as to the king's whereabouts.

"He's out back, working with Eumelus."

"Thanks."  Medon turned to Xena and Gabrielle.  "He usually trains with Eumelus for an hour or two in the morning, before lunch.  Come see."  He led the women through the first floor rooms and out a side door that opened onto a large, walled-in courtyard.

Gabrielle gazed about the space curiously.  The king's guards must train in here, she thought.  The area had been set up as a gymnasium, where the men could exercise with various pieces of equipment and practice with all manner of weapons.  She spotted swords, staves, bows and arrows, spears, and a few archery targets propped up against the walls.

At the moment, the guards had ceased their own training and stood watching the king, engaged in swordplay with his lieutenant, Eumelus.  Both men wore ordinary tunics, trousers, and gauntlets.  Eumelus had cropped hair, and Iphicles wore his own drawn back in a tail.  Gabrielle could see the men sweating profusely under the hot sun.  Dust clouds swirled in the sunlight, raised up by movement over the sand on which the men fought.

The two women and Medon joined the crowd of onlookers, observing the mock duel.  Gabrielle watched Xena evaluate the technique of the two men, sometimes nodding slightly in approval or frowning critically.  The Amazon noted that Eumelus possessed more talent than the king, and he probably had more experience as well, but Iphicles fought with a kind of dogged persistence.  If he trained with Eumelus every day, Gabrielle thought, the king got an excellent workout from a skilled teacher.  The lieutenant clearly challenged Iphicles, working his weaknesses without sympathy, forcing the king to use some hand-to-hand techniques as well.

The session seemed over when Eumelus disarmed the king and knocked him down, but Iphicles pounced up, and with surprising agility for someone his size, kicked the sword out of his lieutenant's hand.  The weapon went flying.  Gabrielle watched as the king winded Eumelus with a backhand blow to the solar plexus and kicked the lieutenant's legs right out from under him.  Eumelus dropped into the sand at the same instant Xena's arm shot out and caught the sword in midair.

Iphicles pulled his lieutenant to his feet, amidst applause and cheers from his men, then retrieved his weapon.  Eumelus looked around for his sword, pausing at the sound of a familiar voice.

"I think this belongs to you."

The king's head snapped up, and when he caught sight of the newcomers, a huge grin illuminated his face like a torch in a darkened room.

"Xena!" he called, striding over to greet the warrior.  His hazel eyes glowed with pleasure as he clasped her arm.  "Welcome back to Corinth."

Part II

"Hi," said Xena, giving his arm a squeeze.  Iphicles took Gabrielle's hand, then nodded at Medon.

"It's good to see you again," said the king.  "What brings you back?"

"The festival," said Gabrielle.  "I'm entering the bard competition."

"Good for you," said Iphicles.  "Give them a run for their money."

"I thought you'd want to see them again," Medon interjected.

"Thanks for bringing them here," Iphicles responded.  "In this crowd, I'd have missed them completely."  He asked the women, "Have you eaten?  You're more than welcome to stay for lunch."

Xena opened her mouth, but Gabrielle beat her to the mark.  "We'd love to!" she answered warmly, giving the king a winning smile.  "As long as I can look in the library after we eat," she added lightly.

"By all means."  Iphicles gestured them inside, and they retreated from the hot courtyard into the cool interior of the palace.  "Anything you want, just ask.  If you don't have lodging for the festival, feel free to stay here.  We have plenty of room."

"We're all set," Xena began, but Gabrielle quickly interrupted her.

"Thank you!" she said, beaming up at Iphicles.  "That's so generous!"  Xena glared at her companion, but Gabrielle didn't seem to notice.

The king paused at a doorway and pointed inside the room.  "You can wash up in there," he said.  He told his guard, "Medon, bring them to the dining room when they're finished."

Gabrielle sighed happily at the opulence of the washroom.  "This is wonderful," she said, gazing around.  She went over to a basin of fresh water, soaked a cloth, and began washing her hands and face.

Slowly, Xena unlaced her gauntlets, then began washing herself at another basin.  An interior doorway led through to a second, larger room with a sunken bathtub.  She felt uncomfortable about staying in the palace for the night—she hated to impose upon people or take advantage of their gratitude for the sake of her own comfort.  Gabrielle, however, clearly relished the thought of such luxurious accommodations.  Despite her own misgivings, Xena felt inclined to indulge her friend's wishes.

"All set?" the bard asked brightly as Xena re-laced her gauntlets.

"Yeah."

Medon greeted them with a smile and led them down one corridor, then another, to a vast banquet hall.  Xena took in the room, noting that it would easily accommodate a hundred people.  At one end of the room, a small recessed area opened onto the central courtyard of the palace.  A table had been set for four in this pleasant alcove.

Iphicles came in a moment later, washed and wearing a clean shirt.  "Please, have a seat."

"This is pretty," said Gabrielle, admiring the courtyard.  "The roses are lovely."

"Aren't they?" Iphicles agreed.  "Jason's grandmother planted some of those."  A servant appeared at his elbow, almost as if by magic, and poured wine for the four of them.  "When did you get here?" he asked as a second servant set down a bowl of olives and three platters: one of bread and cheese, one of tiny meat pieces, and one of something that smelled like seafood.

"This morning," said Xena.

"How long are you staying?" the king asked.

"For the whole festival," Gabrielle provided, reaching for a piece of bread.  "Right, Xena?"

The warrior nodded, swallowing wine.  

"The festival runs three days," said Medon.  He picked up one of the tiny meat pieces, skewered on a wooden pick.  "The bard competition is tomorrow."

"Do I have to do anything special for it?" asked Gabrielle.  She eyed the platter of meat pieces, then took one, sniffed it curiously, and put it in her mouth.

"No, just sign up," Medon answered.  "Archivas is handling that."

"Who's judging it?" the bard inquired.

"Stavros," said Medon, his whole face glowing.  Gabrielle almost spit out her food.

"_The Stavros?" she asked.  "The actor?"_

"Is there more than one of him?" Medon laughed.

"I saw him in _Alcestis_ last year," Gabrielle said, reaching for another tidbit of meat.  "He was wonderful!  Maybe I should tell a different story," she worried.  "He might not like the one about Cecrops."

"That story's fine," said Xena.  "You want to reach the crowd, not just the judge."  She helped herself to something from one of the platters, complimenting Iphicles, "This is wonderful octopus."

_"Octopus?" Gabrielle spluttered._

"Sure," said Iphicles.  "There's a great spot right out here where you can catch them—"

Gabrielle held up her hand in protest.  "I'd rather not know."  She took a few olives from the dish, then gestured to the platter of meat.  "What's that?"

"Pickled flamingo tongues," said Medon, reaching for one.  "One of Falafel's specialties."

"I'm sorry I asked," the bard groaned, watching as Iphicles speared a piece of octopus with his knife.

Their conversation briefly paused as the servant reappeared with more plates of food, which he deftly set down before each person at the table.  The beautifully crafted silver plates held rounds of fragrant bread, filled with savory meat.  Xena's nose detected pork in date sauce.  The servant placed a platter of roasted vegetables in the center of the table, then quietly withdrew.

"Will you go to the play tonight?" asked Medon.  "Stavros has the lead in a new play by Euripides."

"Really?" asked Gabrielle.

"Yes, it's called _The Bacchae_."

Xena nearly inhaled her food.  She covered her mouth and coughed discreetly.

"He stole my idea!" said Gabrielle indignantly.

The king laughed.  "Did he?"

"Yeah, _I_ told him about the Bacchae the last time we were here."  She made a face.  "Figures."

Iphicles grinned.  "One of our musicians likes to say that artists are all cannibals and poets are all thieves."

"Hey," Gabrielle protested.

Medon laughed.  "Well, at least Euripides is stealing from the best."

"What else is going on?" asked Xena.

"There's contests for musicians, one for dancers, one for sculptors, and the play tonight.  See as much of it as you can," said Medon.

Not to mention the activity in the marketplace, Xena thought wryly.  Every merchant and farmer in the state seemed to have come to the city for the festival.

The conversation paused as the four consumed their food.  Xena and Gabrielle hadn't eaten such a fine meal in ages.  Xena found it very agreeable to dine in these surroundings, with the fragrant scents from the courtyard wafting into the room.  She tried not to feel guilty, reminding herself that Iphicles would feel bound to extend the best hospitality he could offer.

When they'd all sated themselves, two servants appeared.  One refilled their wine glasses, the second cleared away their dishes.  A third servant emerged and set down a platter of honey cakes decorated with walnuts and a dish of fresh fruit.  Gabrielle fell upon the sweet pastries with greedy enthusiasm.  Medon took one also.  Xena shook her head slightly.  Iphicles glanced at her and smiled.

"Too sweet," he agreed.

Gabrielle finished one cake, then took a second.  "These are good."  As she ate, she asked Medon, "So, where do I sign up?"

"Outside the Temple of the Muses," he answered.  He seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat, then said, "If you like, I'll go with you.  I can show you where the contest will be held."

"That'd be great!" said Gabrielle.  "Thank you!"

Xena smiled.  Like most young men they'd met, Medon seemed utterly enchanted by Gabrielle, and why shouldn't he?  Beautiful, smart, and spirited young women didn't pass through the city gates every day.  The guard seemed Gabrielle's age, maybe a year older.  He stood about average height, with a nice, slender build.  His neatly-cut dark hair and blue eyes probably reminded Gabrielle of Perdicas, although Medon lacked the down-to-earth blunt good looks of Gabrielle's short-lived husband.  Xena found the guard almost too pretty, but she could imagine a younger woman finding him attractive.

Xena realized Iphicles had been speaking, but she'd been too lost in her own thoughts to hear him.  "Excuse me?"

"Do you have plans for the afternoon?" he asked.

"I—" Xena glanced at Gabrielle.

"Don't worry about me," said her companion swiftly.  "I can find plenty to keep busy."  Medon looked very pleased.

"I usually ride out to some of the villages in the afternoon," said Iphicles.  "I'd enjoy the company, if you'd like to come with me."

The invitation could not have been more gracious, and Xena knew she could refuse without insulting him.  But she had not enjoyed pleasant male company for a long time, and she knew Iphicles rode well.

"Yeah, I will," she responded.  Gabrielle beamed at her with a sunny, encouraging smile.  Xena nudged her friend's foot lightly under the table.  She didn't need the younger woman playing matchmaker for her!

***

After Gabrielle had taken off with Medon, Xena went with Iphicles to fetch his horse from the palace stables.  They walked the stallion to the public stables where Xena had left Argo.  Because of the throngs, they didn't try to mount up right away, but instead walked the animals as far as the north gate of the city.  There, Iphicles spoke briefly to the guards about crowd control.

"If anyone gets drunk or out of hand, throw them out of the city," he said.  "I don't want the festival ruined by brawling idiots."  The guard nodded crisply.

Xena led Argo through the crowd at the gate.  Iphicles followed behind her with Xanthus, his white stallion.  Amidst the babble of voices, the warrior heard soft, excited murmurs.  "It's the king!"  She glanced over and spotted a couple of young women gazing at Iphicles with big eyes.

Once free of the crowd, Xena mounted Argo.  Iphicles brought Xanthus up beside the mare, slipped his left foot into a stirrup, and swung his right leg over the animal's back.  Xena watched the ripple of muscle beneath his dark leather trousers, and she felt a warm tightening in the pit of her stomach.  Iphicles glanced over at her, and suddenly Xena realized she'd been staring at him.  Their eyes connected in a moment of wordless communication, then they nudged their horses into motion.

They took the road leading north and veered off onto a smaller track, passing farms as they traveled.  The farmland gave way to uncultivated fields, dotted with strands of trees.  Iphicles nodded toward a smaller track, and the two horses headed out into a broad, grassy meadow.

 Once in the open, they urged the animals on to a faster pace.  Xena rarely had the opportunity to ride for mere pleasure, and she seldom pushed Argo to such a speed unless running down an adversary.  She cast a sidelong, appreciative look at Xanthus; few horses, in Xena's experience, had ever been able to match the golden mare.

They slowed the horses when the terrain grew rocky on the opposite side of the meadow, and the ground began to climb.  The riders followed a trail that led up the side of a hill and into some trees.  When the trees thinned out and opened onto a grassy hilltop, Xena suddenly saw what Iphicles had wanted to show her.

The hill overlooked the surrounding countryside, right down to the ocean.  From here, Xena could see a patchwork of trees, fields, vineyards, and cultivated farmlands.  And sparkling like a jewel at the edge of the water sat the city of Corinth itself, from this distance a collection of rooftops enclosed securely within a high wall.

"It's beautiful," said Xena.  She glanced over at Iphicles, who beheld his lands with an expression of love and pride and pleasure.  She wondered what it must feel like for him to look out over such bounty, such prosperity, and to know that so much of it was his own accomplishment.

"This isn't much of a village," she chided softly.

"Sorry," Iphicles grinned.  "I come up here sometimes, just to look at everything."  And, Xena suspected, to be alone with his thoughts.  She felt pleased that he'd shared this place of solitude with her.  Iphicles dismounted from his horse, and Xena did the same.  They left the animals to graze and strolled to the edge of the hilltop.

"How've you been?" she asked after a few moments.

"Good," Iphicles responded.  "The harvest is good again this year, we haven't had any threat of invasion, revenues are up—" he stopped when he saw Xena smiling.

"I wasn't talking about Corinth, I was talking about you."

Iphicles fell quiet for a few moments, tugging at the laces of his gauntlets.  "I'm okay," he said.  She could see tiredness in his face and loneliness as well.  He looked like he'd lost weight, and she hoped it was due to his active life and not lack of appetite.  "Busy," he finally added.  "There's a lot going on."  He studied Xena frankly.  "I've thought about you."

"Yeah," she said neutrally.

"The last time you were here," he said slowly, "I talked to Herk after you left.  He said that whatever I do, I should ask myself if Rena would be proud of me for it.  He said that if I started feeling sorry for myself, I should do things to help other people."  Iphicles lifted his shoulders and dropped them.  "So that's what I've been doing."

Xena nodded approvingly.  "Has it worked?"

"Mostly," Iphicles laughed.  Then he sobered.  "I also thought about what you said to me before you left.  You told me there's a lot of bad rulers out there, and I'm not one of them."  He shook his head.  "Gods, that's so true.  I have to deal with them more than I want to, and I think I'd rather die than run Corinth the way most of them run their countries."

"We came through Megarid on our way here," said Xena.  "It's in pretty rough shape.  We stopped in Phlegra, and Josephus told us that there's a lot of people moving to Corinth because of what Periander's been doing."

"It's true," Iphicles confirmed.  "He's in a pretty rotten situation—he was born when his father was only fifteen, and Autesion lived to be an old man.  Periander was sixty-two when he finally came to the throne, and he got stuck with all the debts his father had run up, plus every other problem that Autesion wouldn't deal with."

"Josephus said you went and met with him."

"I did!  I talked with him for almost two full days, and he really seemed to want advice on how he could start fixing things."  Iphicles shrugged in confusion.  "For a while, he seemed to be doing all right, then he just stopped trying to make changes, and Megarid's as bad now as it was under his father.  Maybe even worse."

"What did you tell him to do?" asked Xena.

"Lower taxes, for one thing.  Give land his father had seized back to its rightful owners.  Set aside money for people to start up new farms, settle colonies, trade.  Get rid of corrupt local authorities, put in new people, and keep a tight rein on everyone.  Listen to people, find out what they want, what their problems are…"  Iphicles sighed softly.  "I could go on and on.  I also told him to forget trying to build up an army; Megarid's just too small, and that's how his father lost so much money in the first place.  And now…"

"He's trying to build up an army?" asked Xena.  

The king nodded.  "How'd you know?"

"We heard rumors in some of the villages we stopped in."

"I don't know who he's trying to impress," said Iphicles.  "Thessaly and Attica both have armies that would squash anything he could raise, and if he even thinks about coming south," he grinned, "he wouldn't make it past Phlegra."

Xena laughed.

"Well, it's his bed," said Iphicles.  "He's made it, and he's lying in it now.  Nobody forced him."

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments.  Then Xena said, "You helped negotiate a peace treaty between Athens and Sparta."

"I did," said Iphicles, rubbing the tip of his nose.  "That was about six months ago.  The Athenians had taken some Spartan army officers prisoner, so the Spartans started attacking Athenian ships, killing the crews or taking them hostage, seizing whatever goods they found.  Then the Spartans started going after any boat they suspected _might_ be Athenian, or allied with Athens—"

"Yeah, I know," said Xena ruefully.  "Gabrielle and I were on one of them."

"You're kidding," said Iphicles, staring at her.

"No.  They were going to have us executed, when a messenger ship flagged down the Spartan ship we were on and told the captain that a treaty had been settled and that all hostages should be exchanged."

"I'm so glad," said the king fervently.  "Gods, I had no idea you two were in the middle of that.  Amphion and I were in Athens, trying to get King Menestheus from declaring war on Sparta.  I told him peace would be cheaper and easier in the long run, and he finally believed me."

"Corinth is allied with Sparta," observed Xena.  "You'd have had to send your own men to fight against Athens."

"I know, and that's what I wanted to avoid," said Iphicles soberly.  "We carry on more trade with Athens than with any other state.  If we went to war, trade would stop, and close to half the merchants in Corinth would be out of business."

"And they'd blame you for it," said Xena.

"I know.  And if Sparta won, everyone would have blamed me for the men they lost in battle.  If Sparta lost…"

"You'd be out of a job."

Iphicles barked with laughter.  "Thankfully, it worked out.  Menestheus wasn't crazy about the treaty; he thought it was giving too much to Sparta, but at least he got his own men back—the survivors, anyway.  And he got an apology for the ones who got killed, but that won't bring them back."

"No," said Xena, gazing down at the ocean with a moody expression.  "No, it won't."

Their next silence lasted longer, both of them wrapped in their solitary thoughts.

"Well, there's been happy things, too," said Iphicles.  "I'm having a new amphitheater built."

"Really?" said Xena, surprised.  "Where?"

"In Sylea," said Iphicles, "up in the northeast.  It'll be something that people in Phlegra can get to, and they won't have to make the trip down to Corinth to see plays."

"And merchants won't have to travel as far, either," added Xena with a hint of a smile.  Iphicles grinned back at her.

"There's that, too," he agreed.  "Some of the tavern owners in the city have complained to me about how crowded it's getting, and other people have said that the marketplace is too mobbed to move around in.  This'll take off some of the pressure."

"And create new business in the northern part of the state," said Xena.

"Well, I never said I didn't have ulterior motives," said Iphicles, laughing.  "I'm making the announcement tonight, before the play starts.  I just hope everyone takes it well."

"Do you think they wouldn't?" asked Xena.

"There might be some people in the city who feel like business is being taken away from them, but almost everyone I've talked to says overcrowding is a worse problem.  And another amphitheater creates a venue for poets and writers and actors in Phlegra."  The king shrugged.  "I'm sure there's people who'll complain, but they're the sort who'd gripe if it rained gold.  Everyone else would be scooping up the money, and the same handful of doom-sayers would grumble about their gardens being ruined."

Xena laughed.  "Phlegra's far enough away so that most merchants in the city won't lose any business.  It's not like there'll be a lot of competition."

"Exactly," said Iphicles, smiling at Xena.  "Do you want to come with me tonight?"

"To the play?" she asked, taken by surprise.

"Yeah," he said.  "You and Gabrielle can sit in the royal box if you want."

Xena turned this over in her mind.  His perfectly friendly invitation might well be regarded differently by others.  If people in Corinth saw a woman in their king's company, they would probably assume he was courting her.

"All right," she said at last, despite her misgivings.

"Great!" he said, perhaps a touch too enthusiastically, coloring up at her smile.  They stood in awkward silence for a moment.

"We should probably get back," said Xena reluctantly, looking down again at the city.  She'd need to tell Gabrielle, and they'd need to find something to wear besides their battle clothes.

The two retrieved their horses and led them down the trail, without saying anything else.  Xena had to admire the king's straightforward persistence.  Most men hardly knew how to approach her.  Her thoughts stole back to their first meeting, their almost immediate attraction.  Xena sensed that with very little encouragement, she could fall in love with Iphicles, and then she would have to make decisions about her life that she would rather avoid.  She'd been staying well clear of Corinth for an entire year, but now found herself face-to-face with the conundrum again.

Madness, she thought.  She barely knew Iphicles, and his position as king presented all manner of complications to any relationship she might have with him.  But she couldn't help her heart, which sometimes seemed to operate completely independent of common sense.

In the meadow, they mounted their horses and set out at an easy trot.  To break the awkward silence, Xena said, "Your training with Eumelus is going well."

"Thanks," Iphicles responded.  "He's a good teacher.  Tough, but good."

"Tough _is_ good," Xena laughed.  "You defend yourself well, but you need to be more aggressive when you attack.  I saw you make a couple of openings this morning and not take advantage of them."

"Yeah, I know," said the king.  "I'm working on that."  His mouth opened slightly, as if to suggest that Xena join him in a training session, but he seemed to reject the thought, and he said nothing.

"Do you train on horseback?" she asked.

"Sometimes, not much."

"You should," said Xena.  "If Eumelus isn't skilled enough, find someone who is.  You ride so well, I think you'd have a much better advantage on horseback."

"Good suggestion," answered Iphicles.  "I'll look into it."

They reached the trail.  As they rode, she asked, "Does the name Sciron sound familiar to you?"

Iphicles jolted visibly.  "Yeah, I never met him, but I know who he was.  King Autesion arrested him for treason, ages ago."

Xena told him about the house she and Gabrielle found and the missing shepherd who believed Sciron had murdered his wife.

"Nobody's come to me about this—I don't have any jurisdiction in Megarid," said Iphicles.  "And it couldn't have been Sciron.  When Autesion threw people in prison, they never came out again.  I heard about Sciron when I worked for Gorgus," he recalled, referring to his late wife's stepfather.  "Sciron was involved with a plot to murder Autesion and Periander both.  I have a feeling Gorgus was behind it—he could've combined Megarid and Phlegra into one state."

"Do you think Gorgus betrayed Sciron?" asked Xena.

"He might have," Iphicles speculated.  "He might've decided the assassination attempt wasn't worth it, cut his losses, and handed over Sciron.  Autesion wouldn't have gone after Gorgus—he was too powerful.  But whatever really did happen, Sciron was arrested, and nobody saw him after that.  If someone killed this woman Lavinia," the king concluded, "it wasn't her husband.  Probably some cut-throat or poacher.  Poor thing," he said soberly.  "I used to worry about my mother living alone like that, at least until she married Jason."

"Yeah," said Xena, glad that her own mother lived in a large, well-populated town.

The trail merged into the main road, and the two riders guided their horses in the direction of the city.

***

"We saw Stavros!" said Gabrielle excitedly as she and Xena made their way toward a dressmaker's shop.  "He walked right across the square in front of the Temple of the Muses.  Gods, he is so handsome!"

"Really?" said Xena, mildly interested.  She lacked her friend's enthusiasm for people in the performing arts.

"I thought he was good-looking when we saw him on stage, but that doesn't do him justice.  He has mismatched eyes," Gabrielle went on, her voice rising an octave, "one's blue and one's green.  He stopped and talked to us.  Medon's been posted at the amphitheater sometimes, so he knows most of the actors."

"Hmm," Xena responded.  They reached the dressmaker's shop, knocked, and entered at the sound of a woman's cheerful voice.

"You two will be the ladies the king sent word about."  A beaming, middle-aged woman approached them.  She looked both Xena and Gabrielle up and down, eyes growing big with excitement.  "So, you need dresses to wear to the play tonight?  Come on back, and I'll see what I have."  They followed her through a curtained doorway into a workroom.  "Most of my clients have their things made to order, but I always try to have some ready-made gowns on hand for festivals and big market days."

The woman opened one trunk, then another, and began pulling out gowns.  Fabric rustled softly as she draped the garments over her arm.

"Here," she said, handing a substantial pile to Gabrielle.  "These should be about your length, and I can adjust the fit if you need me to."  She went to a different trunk and drew out several more dresses, which she handed to Xena.  "There's less for you," she said glancing up at the warrior.  "I don't often get ladies your height in the shop.  I'll be out front," she added, vanishing behind the curtain.  "Call me when you're ready."

Gabrielle sorted through the dresses, setting aside the colors she disliked, then began trying on one gown after another.  Xena watched for a few moments, then looked through the dresses the seamstress had given her.  They were all lovely, but she set a couple aside because they seemed too ornate and gaudy.  She slipped out of her armor and weapons, then tried on a couple of gowns.  She made up her mind almost immediately and put her armor back on, then sat in a chair and waited for Gabrielle to finish.

"Which one are you wearing?"

"This one," said Xena, holding up the garment.

The Amazon looked at the dress her friend had chosen, and she sighed.  "Figures."

"What figures?" asked Xena indignantly.

"That you'd pick the darkest, plainest dress in here.  Xena, you're beautiful.  Most women would kill to look like you.  Why not take advantage of it?"

"Because I'd rather not make a spectacle out of myself," the warrior retorted.

"You can be unspectacular and still be pretty," argued Gabrielle.  "You'll look like one of the Sisters of Gaia in that thing."

Xena scowled.  "I am not into being _pretty, Gabrielle."_

Her friend ignored this comment and began to rummage around the room, poking into trunks and cupboards.

"Some of those dresses may belong to other customers," Xena cautioned.

"I know, I know," said Gabrielle, her voice muffled inside a trunk.  She stood up with another pair of dresses, which she brought over to Xena.  "Try these."

Xena stood.  She held up one gown to herself and handed it back.  "This is too short," she said.  She held up the second gown, then doffed her armor once again and slipped the dress over her head.

"See?" said Gabrielle with a happy smile.  "That one's a lot better."

Xena stared at herself in a mirror, admiring the vibrant peacock plums and greens of the dress.  Then she frowned, lifted her arm, and sniffed at a panel of fabric hanging down from the sleeve.  The material smelled to her like rancid tallow.

She began unlacing the gown.  "I don't think so," she said.  "This smells like an old candle."  She pulled the dress over her head and tossed it to Gabrielle.

The bard sniffed the garment herself.  "No, it doesn't," she argued.  "Xena, this dress is gorgeous.  The colors are just _you_."

"No," said Xena, strapping her scabbard on her back.

"It's from being at the bottom of the trunk," said Gabrielle.  "It only smells like leather."  She sniffed again.  "Almost smells like cinnamon, too," she remarked, handing the dress to Xena.  "See?"

The warrior took the gown with a loud sigh, held it to her face and inhaled, then gave it back to her friend.

"I still say it smells like an old candle."

Gabrielle took another sniff.  "It's not too bad," she said.  "Just think of it as a… a leather-cinnamon scented candle."

Xena stared incredulously at the younger woman.  "A leather-cinnamon scented candle," she repeated.  "Gabrielle, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of in my life."

"To the non-artistic mind, maybe," said the bard in a lofty voice.  "Scented candles are nice.  Lila and I used to make them—we'd use spices and herbs and dried flowers.  You know.  Give the candles some life."

"Sounds like something Salmoneus would dream up," said Xena, sitting again.  "He could probably make a fortune if he marketed them right."

Gabrielle made a face.  "Do you always have to be such a cynic?"

"If it keeps me from smelling like a scented candle, yes."

The bard put the two gowns back in the trunk, and she poked about the shop.  Xena heard her suddenly sigh, as if she'd found something marvelous, then she drew out a stunning gown of garnet silk from a cupboard in the back of the room.

"Xena, look at this!"  Gabrielle went to the mirror and excitedly held the dress up to herself.  "This is my size!"  She slipped out of the gown she'd been wearing and donned the red silk.  She spun, and the skirt flared around her.  "Isn't this wonderful?"

"Yeah, that's perfect on you," the warrior admitted, her expression softening.  She always loved watching Gabrielle enjoy herself.

The shopkeeper came back into the room.

"Can I wear this?" Gabrielle asked eagerly.  "I'm sorry, I was looking around, I found this in the back…"  She trailed off.  The seamstress had a sad, nostalgic look on her face.  "Whose is this?"

"That's the last gown I ever made for my lady the queen," the shopkeeper said softly, stepping closer to Gabrielle.  She examined the fit of the dress.  "She wanted it to wear after the baby came.  It's a bit loose in the top, but I can take that in."  The seamstress dropped her hands.  "She would have been nursing, had she lived."

"I'm sorry," said Gabrielle, looking stricken with guilt.  "I shouldn't have—"

"Don't be silly," the woman scolded firmly.  "I'm a sentimental fool, keeping that around, when someone could be getting good use out of it.  No, I'll take it in, and you can wear it.  You can keep it if you want."

"No, no," said the Amazon hastily.  "I'm just borrowing it."

"Well here, let me take it in for you, then."  The seamstress picked up needle and thread and began to deftly take tucks in the bodice of the gown.

"Has Iphicles seen that?" asked Xena quietly as the woman worked.

"No," the shopkeeper reassured her.  "No, he never did see it.  My lady wanted to surprise him."  She sniffled.

"That's so sad," said Gabrielle.  The three fell quiet for a while.

"There, that should be better."  The seamstress finished her work.  She straightened up and glanced at Xena.  "What did you decide on?"

"This one," said Xena.  "It's fine, it doesn't need any adjusting at all."

The shopkeeper looked at the garment, nodding.  "You could have chosen something more fancy," she said.  She went to a wicker stand and drew off a stunning gown of white, woven with gold threads.  "Something like this."

"No," said Xena firmly.

"Are you set on shoes?"  The seamstress opened another trunk and began to rummage through it, producing a pair of leather sandals for Gabrielle.  Xena shook her head.

"My boots are fine."

"Xena," Gabrielle protested.  "You can't wear boots under a dress."

"Says who?  The skirt covers my feet, and it will be dark.  Who's going to notice?"

The shopkeeper glanced at Gabrielle with an expression that said, _Is she always like this?_

The bard laughed and shrugged.  "I guess we're all set then."  She handed her gown and sandals to Xena.  "Can you bring this back to the palace for me?" she asked with a winning smile.  "I have another errand to run.  I won't be long, I promise."

***

Gabrielle approached the Temple of Aphrodite hesitantly.  She had no reason to believe the fickle goddess would help her.  _Xena and I aren't exactly her #1 fans.  On the other hand, I did help undo that scroll and get her powers back.  __Maybe she'll do me a favor in return.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained._

Gabrielle entered the temple and peered around the lovely interior.  At the main altar, she set down a few flowers she'd purchased for a dinar in the marketplace.

"Mom's not home."

The Amazon whipped around to confront Cupid, who stood behind her, hands folded atop his longbow.  For a moment, Gabrielle couldn't speak because her lungs seemed to have stopped working.

"Cupid," she finally managed.

The god inclined his pale head fractionally.  "Gabrielle," he said, and she felt her legs turn to water.  She loved how Cupid said her name.

"Mom's on Cyprus," he continued.  "There's a festival in her honor at this time every year."  Gabrielle nodded.  Legend held that Aphrodite had been born when she washed ashore on Cyprus, and the island continued to be the principal seat of her worship.  "Are you looking for a favor?  If it's that guard who's been taking you around, he doesn't look like he needs any help."

Gabrielle laughed.  "It's not for me, it's for Xena," she said earnestly.  "I think she's in love with King Iphicles, and she won't admit it.  And she's being a crank and a half."

Cupid grinned.  "So what did you want Mom to do about it?"

"I don't know... maybe just give Xena some encouragement.  Blow some sparkles on her," she laughed.  "Maybe you could shoot her with an arrow?"

"Well, it's complicated," said Cupid.  "First, Xena's been hit by one of my arrows before, so she'd know what it feels like.  Then she'd be mad at _you_ for asking me to shoot her."

Gabrielle nodded.  He had a point.

"The second thing is that Iphicles is a king.  If Xena falls in love with him and marries him, she becomes a queen.  Do you think she'd want that kind of responsibility?"

"I—" said Gabrielle, then she stopped, frowning.  Cupid had another point, a valid one.

"If Xena's resisting her own feelings, she might have good reason," the god went on.  "And I can't force her to love him.  Well," he conceded, gently stroking the top of his longbow.  "I could.  But it wouldn't be right.  And since the future of a kingdom is affected by her decision, I'd just as soon she make up her own mind."

"Wow," said Gabrielle, half in jest.  "A god who knows when _not_ to interfere!"

Cupid looked injured.  "We're not all like that," he said.  "Some of us believe in free will."

The bard sighed.  "Still, I wish... you know, I get the feeling that Xena doesn't think she's worthy of being loved.  If I told her Iphicles loves her, she'd say she doesn't deserve it."

Cupid tilted his head to one side.  "I'm the god of love," he reminded her.  "Self-esteem is outside my specialty."

"Can't you at least help her?" Gabrielle pleaded.  "Just... make her feel happy?"

Cupid laughed then, his eyes narrowing and his teeth gleaming in the candlelight.  Gabrielle suddenly shivered.

"I'll see what I can do."  He gazed down at the small woman, then asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she said, shaking herself slightly.  "You just... you look like Ares," she blurted out against her better judgement.

Cupid didn't seem at all affronted.  "I ought to," he said pleasantly.  "He's my father."  And in a flash of white wings, the god vanished, leaving the astonished mortal behind.

***

Xena glared at her reflection in the mirror and jabbed a last pin into the knot at the back of her head.  There.  She'd drawn her hair up in as plain and severe a style as she could manage.  She wore no combs in the dark mass, no circlet, no flowers, no gilded net, no nothing.

She stepped back away from the mirror and took a better look at herself.  She'd chosen the dress because of its unremarkable dark blue color, long sleeves, and modest neckline.  She'd done up the back laces rather loosely, de-emphasizing her figure.  She lifted the skirt slightly, grinning down at her boots.  Overall, she thought with satisfaction, as sober and unromantic a garment as she could possibly have worn.

She paced the guest room, brooding.  She should never have accepted the king's invitation to accompany him tonight.  She shouldn't have accepted his invitation to go riding, either.  In fact, she should have ignored Gabrielle's pleas and stayed away from Corinth entirely. 

Surely, in a year's time, Iphicles should have found someone else.  Surely, her interest in him should have cooled.  But they'd only needed to look at each other once, and their year of separation barely seemed a heartbeat.  She didn't need a romance with a king to further complicate her already vexing life.

Resisting the urge to look at herself again in the mirror, Xena stalked out of the room, along the corridor, and down the stairs to the main floor.  No coy, dramatic entrance for her; she'd be ready and waiting when Iphicles turned up.

_Tomorrow, she vowed to herself, _tomorrow I'll get up at first light, take Argo, and ride around the countryside all day to see if I can find out anything about Jehan_.  _The next day, I'll find something else to keep busy and keep me away from Iphicles for the rest of the festival_._

She stared out a west-facing window.  The sun set, hovering just over the city wall, bathing Corinth in a golden, lambent glow.  She heard distant laughter and voices as throngs of people made their way toward the amphitheater.  A warm summer wind gusted through the window, gentle as a lover's caress.

Abruptly, Xena turned around at the sound of footsteps behind her.  All thoughts of escaping on Argo left her mind at once.  She stared at Iphicles without bothering to disguise her admiration, letting her eyes wander down, then back up again.  She'd seen him dressed up before, but now he somehow seemed taller, more majestic.

It might be the crown, she thought, which added inches to his height, or the royal blue cloak that fell from his broad shoulders down to the tops of his boots.  It might have been the pale brown leather of his tunic, which complimented his golden-brown mane of hair so perfectly.   Unlike other kings, who adorned themselves with extravagant jewelry or elaborate robes of precious cloth, Iphicles knew that simple, well-cut garments that set off his height and athletic body would have a much greater visual impact.

Iphicles crossed the floor and extended his hand to her.  Xena hesitated, then extended her own hand into his.  Iphicles kissed the back of her fingers graciously.  "That's lovely," he said, glancing down at her dress.  "What a wonderful color on you."

Xena felt her cheeks turn warm, partly with pleasure, partly with chagrin.  She could have wrapped herself in Argo's blanket, and Iphicles would still have found her enchanting.  And by dressing in a simple, unadorned gown that let her beautiful, work-sculpted body speak for itself, Xena saw that she'd only reinforced the king's tastes.

"Thank you," she said, realizing that Iphicles hadn't let go of her hand.  In fact, he had both of his own hands—large, warm, and slightly callused—around hers.  They stood together, staring into each other's eyes.

Across the room, a throat cleared softly.  Iphicles jolted slightly and released Xena's hand.  The two turned to face the newcomer, a tall man who appeared to be in his middle thirties.

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" he asked charmingly.

"Not at all!"  Iphicles grinned broadly.  He gestured to the tall man, who crossed the room to stand beside the king.  "Xena, this is Melisseus, the builder who's designing the new amphitheater.  Melisseus, this is Xena."

The builder stood about the king's height, with a lean, angular frame.  Short, thinning pale hair framed a face that all but blazed with intelligence.  A lifetime of pulling his brows together in concentration had resulted in a distinctive vertical furrow in the center of his forehead.  He wore a loose-fitting white linen tunic, trousers of the same fabric, and brown leather sandals.  He carried about himself an air of self-assurance that bordered on arrogance, but this only added to his appeal.

"Hi," said the warrior, extending her hand.  Melisseus gave her arm a squeeze.

"This is an honor," the builder said with an ironic smile.  "I don't get introduced to a living legend every day."

"Living legend?" Xena jested, lifting an eyebrow.  "As opposed to some other kind?"

Melisseus laughed, humor flashing in his green eyes.  "The stories don't do you any justice," he said, with a knowing glance at Iphicles.

"No, they don't," said a voice behind them, and the three turned to see Gabrielle descend the staircase and cross the floor.

The men's eyes went wide with astonishment, and Xena smiled with pleasure.  The garnet silk dress brought out color in Gabrielle's face and gave her blue eyes a vivid glow.  She'd drawn up her hair in a gold net and added some gold jewelry.  The warrior felt a slight pang of guilt: Gabrielle should have more evenings like this, and fewer days with her life in peril.

"That's wonderful," said Iphicles.  If he recognized the gown as something his late wife might have worn, he showed no sign of it.  He gestured to his builder.  "Melisseus, this is Gabrielle," he said.  "The sure winner of our bard competition tomorrow."

"Melisseus!" said Gabrielle.  "You designed the Temple of the Graces in Mycenae."

Xena glanced at her friend in surprise.  How on earth did Gabrielle know that?

"Yeah, I did."  Melisseus looked very pleased that she knew of his work.

"He's building our new amphitheater," Iphicles told Gabrielle.

"That's great," she responded.  She told Melisseus, "I heard all about you from Salmoneus."

"Salmoneus?" echoed the builder.  "The little round fellow who tried to sell me the furnishings for the temple?"

"That'd be him," Xena remarked.

"Yeah, turns out he'd brought them cheap from a thief who'd stolen them from the Temple of Aphrodite in Argos and wanted to unload them in a hurry."

Xena and Gabrielle exchanged a pained expression.  "Did Autolycus live to tell about it?" Xena wondered.

"Rumor has it, Aphrodite extracted an appropriate revenge," said Melisseus, his eyes gleaming.  "She caused him to fall in love with a donkey."  The two women laughed.

"Serves him right," said Gabrielle.

"Thankfully, I had the sense to not accept the merchandise Salmoneus offered me," the builder concluded.

"Wise man," said Iphicles, lifting his eyebrows.

Gabrielle had been watching Melisseus intently.  She asked him, "Did I hear you singing earlier today?  We were walking past some houses this morning, and I heard a voice that sounded like yours."  She hummed a tune.

Melisseus turned unexpectedly red.  "My weakness."

"No, your voice is beautiful," Gabrielle insisted.  "Are you going to be in the music competition?"

He laughed.  "No, I couldn't even if I wanted to.  The judge is—" he glanced at the king—"rather biased."

"You're judging?" Gabrielle asked Iphicles.

"Yeah, it's my one indulgence for the festival," he answered.  "We get a lot of great musicians here."

Melisseus nodded toward Iphicles.  "And you're looking at one of them now."

"You sing?" asked Gabrielle.  "Or do you play an instrument?"

"He doesn't admit it," Melisseus taunted gently, "but he sings.  Beautifully, I might add."

Iphicles shrugged, looking embarrassed.  Sensing his discomfort, Gabrielle changed the subject.  "Where's Medon?" she asked.

"Probably outside," said Iphicles.

"Medon?" Melisseus repeated.  "Medon the guard?"

"Yeah, he was supposed to be coming with us," said Gabrielle.

"Oh!"

Xena frowned slightly, wondering why the builder seemed so astonished.

"We should get going," said Iphicles.  "It's almost time."

They left the palace.  Medon waited by the main gate, talking to some of the other guards.  He'd cleaned up and changed into a fresh blue shirt, and he looked every inch the crisp, efficient king's guard.  His face lit up when he spotted Gabrielle.

"Hi!" he said, reaching to take her arm.  "You look wonderful," he added, gazing up and down at her attire.  Xena glanced at Melisseus and saw a perplexed expression on his face.

"Thank you!" said Gabrielle.  She and Medon headed off together.  Iphicles hesitated, then offered Xena his arm, which she accepted with a smile.  Melisseus followed behind them at a discreet distance.  Xena wondered why he didn't have an escort of his own.  A man so handsome and self-assured must not often want for feminine companionship.

Crowds of theater-goers had already filled the amphitheater to capacity, and the murmuring din increased perceptibly as the king's retinue emerged and took their seats in the royal box.  Xena looked around the airy, spacious structure.  The stone seats and walls glowed warmly in the rosy-lavender twilight, and scores of torches provided light for the stage.

Iphicles left the royal box, crossed the arena, and mounted the steps to the stage.  The crowd fell respectfully quiet.

"Good evening," said Iphicles.  His low voice carried effortlessly up to the highest levels of the amphitheater.  "Welcome to Corinth.  I'm pleased to see such a crowd tonight, and I know Euripides appreciates your enthusiasm for his work.

"Many of you who've come to the city for festivals and market days know how crowded Corinth has gotten lately.  And traders have spoken to me about the need for a bigger market in the north.  Tonight, I'm happy to announce a solution to both problems.  Next spring, construction will begin on a new amphitheater in Sylea, which will provide a venue for artists in northern Corinth.  And the amphitheater marketplace will serve farmers and traders, who won't have to come so far south to sell their goods."

A soft murmur of approval rose from the crowd.

"The amphitheater will be designed by Melisseus, who recently built the Temple of the Graces in Mycenae," Iphicles continued.  "Many of you may already be familiar with his work, which has no equal."

Now people shifted to get a look at the handsome builder, who sat comfortably in his chair, completely unperturbed by the attention.

"I know some of you may have concerns about the new amphitheater," Iphicles concluded.  "And I'll be more than happy to hear them all, when the festival is over."  He treated the crowd to a dazzling smile that probably melted the knees of every woman in attendance.  "In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the play tonight and the rest of the festival."

Iphicles hopped down from the stage and returned to the royal box, amidst cheers and applause.  Xena smiled at his flushed countenance as he took the seat beside her.  What a charming speech, she thought.  He'd had the crowd eating right out of his hand.  She wondered how many of his remarks had been rehearsed; they'd certainly sounded spontaneous, as if he'd made up everything on the spot.  Impulsively, she reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.  Iphicles looked at her, surprised, and tightened his fingers around hers.  Then he released her hand and turned his attention to the stage.  The play had begun.

A quiet hush descended over the amphitheater.  A heartbeat later, Stavros stepped onto the stage.

Xena normally disliked theater, but from the moment Stavros, clad as the god Dionysus, began speaking, she was spellbound.  His long, reed-thin frame was draped in a simple robe, and pale brown hair fell to his shoulders, framing a breathtakingly handsome face.  Nature had blessed Stavros with a high, noble brow, cheekbones like twin scimitars, and a long, smooth jaw.  As Gabrielle had observed, Stavros had mismatched eyes—the right blue, and the left a gray-green.  The anomaly provided the actor with his most distinctive feature and assured that the gaze of the audience would not leave his face.

Confounding Xena's expectations, Stavros had a talent that matched his looks.  He spoke distinctly, easily conveying the stylized dialogue of the play to even the most illiterate members of the audience.  He had a beautiful voice: light but powerful, every word perfectly enunciated.  He moved slightly as he spoke, and each gesture, no matter how small, provided an added emphasis— indeed, an added meaning—to the character's pontifications.

As with many plays Xena had attended, the central message of _The Bacchae seemed to be the danger and folly of defying the gods.  Yet, as the drama unfolded, she became aware of a deeper conflict—a young man of uncertain parentage, fighting for legitimacy against an arrogant cousin determined to prove him fraudulent and a bastard.  She felt Iphicles shifting beside her.  This observation had not escaped him, either._

The actor playing Pentheus, the cousin of Dionysus, provided a perfect foil to Stavros: his smaller stature and doughy, boyish face, capped with sandy-red hair, made him seem far too young to be the King of Thebes.  He delivered his lines in a mocking, superior voice that conveyed the character's distaste for the new god's orgiastic revels.

"Why do you bring these rites to Hellas?" Pentheus inquired of the disguised god.

"Dionysus, the child of Zeus, sent me," the god responded.

"Is there a Zeus who breeds new gods there?" Pentheus inquired scornfully, causing a soft wave of titters to pass through the crowd in the amphitheater.  "Again, you diverted my question well, speaking more nonsense."

"One will seem to be foolish if he speaks wisely to an ignorant man," Dionysus countered, his voice mysterious.  Xena grinned, mentally storing away that observation for future use.

The play continued.  Xena had to grudgingly admire the craft of Euripides, who wove a fascinating tale, and the talent of the performers who brought the bard's vision to life.  As the audience watched, Pentheus attempted to imprison the god, but Dionysus easily escaped.  A messenger brought word that Agave, the mother of Pentheus, had joined the other women of Thebes in the Bacchic revels.  Pentheus thought to capture the women by force of arms and have them put to death, but Dionysus instead persuaded the king to disguise himself as one of the god's followers and spy upon the mad women.

Dionysus and Pentheus both left the stage, and the chorus took over, once more extolling the virtues of blind obedience to the gods.  Gabrielle, seated to the right of Xena, rolled her eyes.

Pentheus re-emerged, in the guise of a woman, pleased with himself for his cunning.  When the god remarked, "You will return being carried in the arms of your mother," Xena felt a chill, immediately sensing a double meaning to the dialogue.

The king responded jovially, "You will force me to luxury."

Dionysus hissed, "Yes indeed, such luxury!"

Annoyingly, the chorus took over with another sermon.  But it ended shortly with the arrival of a messenger who bore the news of the king's ghastly death.  Then the audience murmured with horror as Agave walked on stage with her son's head impaled on her thyrsos.

Gabrielle made an inarticulate noise, and Xena reached over to put a hand on her friend's arm.  _It's only a play_, she thought, but her mind reeled nevertheless, especially when Agave boasted to her father of having killed a wild lion cub, encouraging him to hang its head from the walls of the house.

The final, inevitable moment of despair struck when Agave returned to her senses and realized her unspeakable atrocity.  Kadmos, Agave's father, lamented the failure of his daughter and grandson to revere the new god.  Dionysus himself reappeared and condemmed the unhappy father and child to exile.  The chorus made a final pronouncement, and the play ended.

A great round of cheers and applause rose up from the crowd.  Xena found herself standing, in spite of her distaste for the play's motif, clapping in appreciation of the performance.  Gabrielle, untroubled once more, stood laughing with Medon.  Iphicles clapped, but his eyes were far away.  Melisseus, on the far left of Iphicles, grinned broadly.

The cast returned to the stage for a bow.  First the chorus, then the two actors who'd played the messengers, then the chorus leader.  Then the two older men who'd played Kadmos and Teiresias.  Special cheers arose for the adolescent boy who'd portrayed Agave.  When the actor who'd played Pentheus emerged, the applause increased to an enthusiastic roar.

"Metion," Iphicles told Xena, almost yelling over the noise.  "He directed the play."

"Excellent work," she yelled back.

The cheers erupted into screams when Stavros finally appeared to take his bow.  The applause went on and on and on.  Stavros bowed again and again, his manner self-effacing, though Xena could tell that modesty was not a habitual virtue of the actor.

Metion vanished off-stage and reappeared with a reluctant Euripides in tow.  The crowd went wild all over again.  The young playwright took one awkward bow, blushing furiously.  Finally, he held out his hand in a gesture of thanks to Iphicles, who nodded back in response.  After a last bow, the players left the stage.

Iphicles took Xena's arm, and they left the royal box, escorted by a small contingent of guards.  

"Xena," said Gabrielle, her hand entwined in Medon's, "we're going to find Euripides and congratulate him."

"All right," said Xena.  "Take care," she added as a caution.  The post-play crowd might well decide to engage in some Bacchic revels of their own.

"I should head for home," remarked Melisseus with an exaggerated yawn.  "It's been a long day."  He nodded at Xena.  "It was lovely to meet you."  He told Iphicles, "I'll stop by tomorrow."

When the architect vanished, Iphicles glanced at Xena.  "What do you want to do?"

"Walk," she said, smiling.

They strolled along through the dusty grounds where, in daylight, the amphitheater market would be held.  They entered the city through the south gate, along with scores of other people leaving the play.  Xena could feel the curious eyes upon her.

They left more and more of the crowd behind, as people headed for homes, inns, and taverns.  When they reached the palace, Iphicles asked, "Want to see the courtyard?"

"I would," said Xena.  They entered the courtyard through the great hall, and the scent of flowers immediately enveloped them.  Light flickered into the courtyard from torches in the surrounding corridors and glowed down from the ghostly rising moon.

The pair walked slowly along the pathways, hands loosely clasped.

"So, what did you think?" asked Xena.

Iphicles laughed ruefully.  "I always used to be so jealous of Herk," he admitted.  "The big hero, the guy who got all the attention.  I never thought that people might treat him like a freak."

"Yeah," said Xena.  "I could've lived without the chorus lecturing about blind obedience to the gods, but it was a good play."

"Makes you think, doesn't it?" said Iphicles as they strolled around a rose bed.  "When a strange guy shows up in town and tells you he's a new god, do you believe him and risk making an idiot out of yourself, or do you tell him to get lost and risk being blasted down for it?"

Xena laughed in delight at this blunt assessment.

"But people love stuff like that," said Iphicles.  "Almost every play I've seen has said pretty much the same thing: the gods have your life all planned out for you, and if you try to buck the system, it's just going to land on your head harder than ever."

"Do you believe it?" asked Xena with a wicked smile.

"No," laughed Iphicles.  "Well, maybe they have plans for us, but we still have to do the work.  Otherwise, you'd sit around all day doing nothing.  Why bother trying to accomplish anything, if the gods've already made up their minds?"

"Good point," said Xena, giving his hand a squeeze.

"What about you?" asked Iphicles.  "You looked like you'd bitten a lemon every time the chorus started in about the glories of Dionysus."

"I think we make our own fate," said Xena.  "Life is whatever you make it out to be.  Most gods I've run across would love you to believe they control every moment of your existence, but I don't think it's true at all."

"Do you deal with them?" asked Iphicles.

"More than I want to," said Xena.  "Including Bacchus."

"Is he anything like Stavros?" Iphicles jested.

"No, he looks like a big red turnip with horns."

The king almost fell over laughing.  He and Xena stared at each other for a moment with stupid grins, then abruptly looked away and continued walking.

"It's funny," said Iphicles.  "The first fight I think I ever got into was with some bully who told me my mother was a whore."

"He deserved it, then," said Xena.

"Yeah, I got a lot of that," sighed Iphicles.  "They called Herk a bastard, said my mother couldn't wait for my father to come home, all the usual stuff kids will say to torment you.  It's the first thing I resented Herk for: I got picked on because of _him_."

Xena laughed.

"Then it turned out he was the son of Zeus, and people backed off.  But then he got even more attention, so I still resented him.  Took me a long time to get over it," he admitted sheepishly.

"It's human," said Xena.  "Especially when you're young, it's hard not to resent being overlooked.  Everyone wants to feel special."

"I could never see it then, but attention is the last thing Herk wants," said Iphicles.  "He just wants to be ordinary.  When I married Rena, I think I realized for the first time he envied _me_."

Xena smiled.

"What about you?" asked Iphicles.  "Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"Two brothers," she answered.  "My older brother Torris was the independent one—he'd always be off with his friends.  I was the troublemaker.  But we all doted on my younger brother, Lyceus."  Xena's voice grew soft with reminiscence.  "Maybe because he was the youngest, we all wanted to protect him."

Iphicles must have heard something in her voice, because he tightened his hold on her hand.  "What happened to him?"

"He died trying to help me defend Amphipolis from a raiding warlord," said Xena.  "That was my first battle, and he was my first loss."

"Gods," said Iphicles.  "How old were you?"

"I was seventeen, Lyceus was sixteen."

The king stared at her.  "That young?"

"Yeah.  I first picked up a sword when I was thirteen," Xena recalled.  "I was one of the biggest, strongest kids in the town.  It came naturally to me.  I started teaching Lyceus.  It was all a game at first, but..." she trailed off, seeing her life since that day, one long battle, a perpetual struggle to kill and avoid being killed.

Iphicles hadn't released her hand.

"It's like a chain," she said in a low voice.  "All those dead souls are like one long chain, binding me."

"But every time you help someone, you cut off a link," Iphicles argued.

The warrior exhaled in a gusty sigh.  "You sound like Gabrielle," she said.  "I can never bring back the people I killed, Iphicles."

"No, but you can keep others from being hurt," he insisted.  "And you're doing what so few people do: you've apologized and genuinely made amends."  Iphicles looked away.  "When Rena died, a lot of men suffered because I wanted someone to blame."  He turned his head back toward Xena.  "Sixteen men died because of me, including Herk's friend Ajax, who threw himself to a sand shark to save me and Iolaus."   Bitterness edged into his voice.  "I wasn't worth it."

Xena felt her stomach sink.  Quietly, she said, "I didn't realize there were that many."

"Three of them were beaten to death by guards," said Iphicles, as if the grim statistics were etched into his mind forever.  "Six of them got killed by sand sharks when they tried to escape the prison.  The rest of them starved to death."

Xena tightened her hand around his.  She didn't know what to say.  Sixteen men seemed a grain of sand compared to the thousands of dead Xena had left strewn in her wake.  But those sixteen deaths would weigh no less heavily on the king's shoulders.

"So, I did what you do," said Iphicles tiredly.  "I apologized, I made amends.  I do anything I can to help my people."  He looked around the courtyard.  "I'm here to protect them."

"You're doing a good job," Xena told him.  "People wouldn't be moving to Corinth in droves if you weren't."  She searched for the right words.  "I know this is easier said than done, but you have to forgive yourself sooner or later.  Guilt has a way of turning into self-pity if you're not careful.  And if you spend too much time feeling sorry for yourself, you might overlook someone who needs your help."

"Yeah," said Iphicles.  They stopped walking and turned to each other.  "Have you?" he asked.  "Forgiven yourself?"

"For some things."  Xena looked troubled.  "Not others."

"Herk told me I wanted someone to blame," said the king.  "You told me not to blame myself for things I didn't do."  He managed a smile.  "I've been trying to find the middle ground."

"Peace," Xena told him.  "You'll find your way to peace if you remember both my advice and his.  But it's such a long road."

Iphicles reached out and began stroking her face.  "Not so long when there's someone to share the journey with you."

"Yeah," said Xena.  She stepped forward, softly kissing his mouth.  Iphicles put his hands awkwardly on her shoulders.  They kissed again, then again.  Iphicles dropped his hands and slid his arms around Xena's waist.  She put her arms around his shoulders and drew him closer.

"I'm so glad you came back," Iphicles whispered.  He kissed Xena's ear, then her neck.  "I've thought about you, almost every day."

They kissed again.  This time, Xena opened her mouth and allowed Iphicles to explore with his tongue.  He tasted wonderfully of wine.  Xena loved his warm, earthy scent; it brought to her mind thoughts of freedom and the outdoors and sunshine.

A breeze gusted through the courtyard, carrying with it the fragrance of flowers.  Xena felt light-headed and weak at the knees.  She pushed her fingers through the king's hair, mindful not to knock off his crown, as his hands moved slowly up and down her back.  Xena caressed Iphicles likewise, imagining how the skin beneath his leather tunic would feel.

At last they parted for air.  Iphicles nuzzled Xena's face, lightly kissing her forehead and eyebrows with his open mouth.  Warm air gusted over them again, like a draft from a feathered fan.  Such a beautiful night, she thought, and such wonderful company to share it.

They kissed again with more intensity.  Xena wanted Iphicles, the first time she'd really desired a man since Marcus died.  When they parted again, she could see the hungry expression on the king's face and the questioning look in his eyes.

"Here?" she teased, softly brushing her mouth across his.  "The roses are little thorny, don't you think?"

"I have a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs," said Iphicles with a laugh.  He pulled Xena to him, holding her tightly.  "And I've spent too many nights in it by myself," he added hoarsely.

They kissed once more, and Iphicles took Xena by the hand, leading her back through the courtyard to one of the torchlit corridors.  This passage would, Xena knew, lead to the stairway to the king's rooms.  There, they would have the luxury of privacy and a locked door.

Xena stopped short abruptly, all thoughts of passion forgotten.  "What was that?"

"What's what?" asked Iphicles.

"That noise."  She turned toward the front of the palace.  Iphicles heard it then, an audible commotion.  And it kept growing louder.

"Come on," he said reluctantly, taking Xena's hand.  "Let's get this straightened out now, and get it over with."  He kissed her fingers, throwing her a lopsided smile.  "Whatever's going on, it'd better be good, or I'll have their hides."

They rounded the corner, hurried through the darkened great hall and down a short corridor into the main portico, where visitors waited for an audience with the king.

About a dozen guards scuffled, dragging a reluctant form with them.  Several more guards reverently carried a shrouded body on their shoulders.

"Eumelus!" Iphicles bellowed, causing everyone to fall silent at once.  "What in Hades is going on in here?"

"Your majesty."  The king's lieutenant gingerly held a bloodied dagger in one hand.  With the other, he gestured to the subdued miscreant who'd been pushed to the floor.  "That man is guilty of murder!  We found him in an alley with this—" he held up the knife—"in his hand."

Iphicles sprang over to the shrouded body and drew back the sheet.  Xena heard him curse.

"It's Stavros," he said.

"The actor?"  Xena's voice registered her astonishment.  But her incredulity grew when she pushed aside the soldiers to look at the prisoner they guarded so jealously and found herself staring down into the dark eyes and defiant face of Joxer.

Continued in Part III


	2. Blood Loyalty Parts III and IV

Part III

"Joxer!" she said.  The young man glared up at her, but did not respond.

"This is impossible," Xena stated flatly.  "Joxer couldn't kill a flea if he tried."

"We found him trying to sneak out of the alley with this in his hand," Eumelus asserted.  Xena knew the king's lieutenant as an honest man, one who would not maliciously slander an innocent.

"What alley?" Iphicles inquired curtly.

"The alley alongside the house where Stavros and his family live."

Suddenly Xena jolted.  "Close the city gates; don't let anyone out," she ordered.

"What!" said Iphicles.

"Have him," Xena nodded toward Joxer, "locked up for now."  She took Iphicles by the arm.  Behind them, the guards took Joxer away.  "Tell your guards to keep watch for a man who looks just like him."

"Xena, what in Tartarus is going on here?"

"Joxer has a brother, an identical twin," said Xena.  Iphicles groaned.  "His name's Jett.  He's an assassin, a hit man for hire.  I think Jett must have killed Stavros, and Joxer's trying to protect him."

"Wonderful," sighed Iphicles.  He called for Eumelus and relayed him the information.  The lieutenant went swiftly with a group of his men to secure the city gates.

"I want to look at Stavros," said Xena.  "Is there someplace I can do that?"

"Yeah, down in the cellar."  Iphicles nodded to the men carring the actor's body.  "Take him downstairs."

As the guards carried away Stavros, Gabrielle appeared through the doorway.

"Xena, what's going on?  People are rioting in the streets."

"Stavros was murdered," Xena responded without preamble.  Her friend winced.  "The king's guards found Joxer with a bloody knife in his hand."

"Joxer?" Gabrielle echoed.  "Are you sure it's not Jett?"

"Well, the man we just locked up is Joxer," said Xena.  "Iphicles has his guards combing the city for Jett."

"I can't believe someone would kill Stavros," Gabrielle said, a look of dismay on her face.  "Why?"

"We'll find out," said Xena.  "Where's Medon?"

"He's with the other guards, trying to get people to calm down," said Gabrielle.  She told Iphicles, "It's a madhouse out there."

"I'll go take care of it," he responded.  "Have a look at Stavros and let me know if you find anything."  Throwing an apologetic look to Xena, the king and his men departed.

***

"What are we looking for?" asked Gabrielle.

"I'm not sure," Xena responded, rolling up the sleeves of her gown.  "But I want to have a look at his body before he's buried."

The actor's body had been laid out on a stone slab in a small, cool basement room, one that seemed designed specifically for the washing and preparing of the dead for burial.

"Help me get his clothes off," said Xena.  At one time, Gabrielle might have squirmed with embarrassment or distaste at such a task, but now she went briskly to the actor's feet and removed his sandals while Xena raised the man's torso and slipped off his tunic.

Xena then unfastened the simple cord Stavros had worn as a belt and unlaced the flap of his plain linen trousers.  While Gabrielle lifted the actor's midsection, Xena drew off the pants and set them with the rest of his clothing.

"What's this?"  Gabrielle fingered an amulet around the actor's neck.

"Let me see."  Xena took a careful look, then slipped off the chain.  "Looks like a sun amulet that's been split in half," she murmured.

Gabrielle nodded in agreement.  "Medon said that Stavros worshipped Apollo."

"But only half a sun?" Xena pondered.  The silver disk had been crafted with curling flames around the outer edge; however, the circle had been severed in two.  On closer inspection, Xena realized the amulet had been crafted as a half-disk deliberately.  Somewhere, she felt certain, someone else wore another half-sun amulet.

Xena set aside the pendant and turned her attention back to Stavros.  When the king's men had brought in the actor's body, Xena had not seen any signs of bleeding, although the knife Joxer carried had been covered with blood.  The incongruity puzzled her.

Stavros had been in excellent health, very slender and subtly muscled.  Even with the pallor of death, Xena noted the peachy-fair tone of his skin.  She examined the front of his body and found no wounds.  Xena next lifted the head and carefully felt his scalp with her fingertips.  She detected no unusual lumps, and her fingers came away free of blood.  So the actor had not died of a head injury.  Xena lifted each eyelid and did not find bleeding or any other signs of damage to his eyes.

"His hair is short," Gabrielle remarked.

"Yeah, he must've been wearing a wig in the play.  Here, help me turn him over."

Gabrielle helped her turn the cadaver, and Xena examined the dead man's back, as unmarked as the front.  Finally, they turned him back over.

"So where'd that blood come from?" Xena asked herself.

"From here?" Gabrielle asked dubiously, indicating a scratch on the actor's arm.

"No, the knife was covered with blood."  Xena looked closely at the scratch on the left forearm.  "That's odd," she said softly.

"What's odd?" said Gabrielle.

Xena straightened up.  "If someone's being stabbed at with a knife, they usually throw up an arm like this."  She demonstrated, raising her left arm, as if to ward off a blow.  "It looks like he raised his arm and someone grazed him with the knife.  It's just a scratch, not even a cut."  She lifted the arm and took another look.  "It barely broke the skin, so Stavros couldn't have been very close to his attacker.  But the blood isn't dry," she added.  "This is fresh; it must have been done right when he died."

The two women turned at the sound of footsteps.  A moment later, Iphicles entered the chamber.  "Having any luck?"

"Not really.  Come look at this."  Xena showed him the scratch on the dead man's arm.  "This is the only mark on him.  Joxer couldn't have killed Stavros, not with that knife anyway.  That must be someone else's blood."

"Then how'd Stavros die?" asked Gabrielle.

"I'm still working on that," Xena responded.  She asked Iphicles, "Have there been any other deaths tonight?"

"No," said the king, looking weary.  "A lot of brawling, but we got them to settle down."  He pushed tired fingers through his hair.  Xena observed that he'd removed his crown and cloak, and he now seemed less like a king and more like an overworked bureaucrat.

"Xena, maybe Stavros was poisoned," Gabrielle said abruptly.  "Maybe there was poison on the knife."

"Iphicles, go get me that knife," said Xena.  The king complied promptly.  "Whatever made you think of that?"

"He must have died quickly," said Gabrielle, touching the actor's chest.  "He's still warm."  She took a motionless hand in her own.  "He's cooling off, though."

Xena sniffed around the dead man's nose, then opened his mouth.  She detected nothing.  "If it was poison, it worked fast," she remarked.

Iphicles returned with the knife.  "Here," he said.  Xena carefully scrutinized the weapon.  She examined the bloodied blade, then sniffed it.

"I don't smell anything," she said, puzzled.  She gave the knife back to Iphicles.  "Keep that someplace safe," she said.  "Don't clean it."  The king nodded.

"If Stavros was killed with poison, it must have been faster than anything I know of."  Xena rapidly reviewed in her mind the list of possible culprits, but most toxins left telltale marks—an odor, convulsing or paralysis of the limbs, hemorrhaging in the eyes.

"Snake venom?" Gabrielle suggested.

"Could be, but even venom takes time..."  Xena trailed off.  "If someone's keeping vipers, they might have milked the poison by having the snake bite an animal, probably something small, like a pig or a dog.  Then they stuck the knife into the carcass."

"That'd explain the blood," said Iphicles.

"Have your men look around for anyone who might be keeping snakes," Xena told the king.  "And for anyone trying to get rid of an animal carcass."  Iphicles nodded.  "I'll come with you," said Xena.  She wanted to have a look around the city herself; in her present state; she'd never sleep anyway.

"Me too," said Gabrielle.  She re-covered the actor's body with a sheet.  Xena took the half-sun amulet and slipped it over her own head, concealing the ornament beneath her gown.  Then the three set out for the city.

***

They searched Corinth from one end to the other, but found no trace of snakes, animal carcasses, or Jett.  In the small hours of the morning, they finally surrendered to weariness and returned to the palace.  The two women trudged up to their rooms in the guest quarters, where they dropped into bed for a few hours' sleep.

The first rays of dawn pulled Xena from slumber.  She quickly dressed and went down to the washroom, then hurried into the kitchen.  The servants had set out a cold breakfast, and she took some bread and fruit, which she ate while contemplating her next move.

She decided to have a talk with the other actors, to see if any of them could shed light on where Stavros had gone after the play.  She retraced her steps through the palace and left through the main gate.  She'd not taken a dozen paces when loud, angry jeers caught her attention.  Xena hurried forward, then caught a glimpse of a couple rounding a corner from behind a building.

The pair walked very quickly in the direction of the palace.  As they drew closer, Xena saw that the woman wore an unadorned white gown.  A black veil covered her head, falling nearly to her waist.  A young man walked beside her, his body language defensive, his head turning from side to side.

From behind the same corner emerged a crowd of people, who must have been following the couple.  Xena could hear shouted taunts.  She hurried closer, and as she approached the pair, a stone flew from the crowd, striking the woman's shoulder.  She cried out in pain, and the young man quickly stepped between her and the mob, his body shielding her from the next two stones.

Xena didn't waste any time.  She broke into a run, and with an ear-piercing battle cry, vaulted up over the couple's heads, somersaulted through the air, and landed to face the angry crowd.  She pulled her chakram off its clip and used it to deflect the next half-dozen stones.  The missiles shot back at the attackers, and the throng drew away, suddenly wary and respectful.  Xena unsheathed her sword and stood in front of the harried pair.

"A mob against two people?" she demanded.  "Hardly seems like fair odds to me."

A youth with red, swollen eyes pointed an accusing finger at the veiled woman.  "Murderess!" he shouted, his voice cracking.  "Whore!"

The young man guarding the woman lunged, but Xena caught his arm and pulled him back.

"She murdered Stavros!" a woman screamed.  "That lying, cold-blooded bi—"

"Where's your proof?" Xena shot.

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of accusations, some pointing fingers, others gesticulating violently with the stones in their hands.  Suddenly a deafening bellow broke through the din.

_"Silence!"_

At once every person in the mob fell utterly still.  Xena glanced to her right and saw Iphicles come striding up alongside her, his face hard with anger.  He looked with disgust at the crowd, at the stones in people's hands, and demanded, "What is this, an execution squad?"

The people shifted uncomfortably, dropping their stones to the ground.  Xena noted that most of them looked tired and frustrated, their eyes red from weeping, their skin pallid from lack of sleep.  She realized these must be people who had admired Stavros and were venting their grief upon this hapless woman.

One man spoke up boldly.  "Hemera killed Stavros," he declared.  "Or arranged to have him murdered."

"Do you have proof?" asked Iphicles coldly.  "Apart from the gossip of your neighbors?"

The people stared at their feet, or off into the distance—anywhere but the king's face.

"I didn't think so," said Iphicles.  "I'll remind you that decisions about guilt, innocence, and punishment are my business, not yours.  I promise you I'll do everything I can to bring whoever murdered Stavros to justice, but there won't be any trial by mob.  Not in Corinth, not as long as I'm king.  Now, all of you have homes and work you should be tending.  Go."

The crowd quietly melted away, leaving the foursome alone in the square.  Iphicles hurried to the woman's side.  "Hemera," he said gently.  "I'm so sorry."  The black veil bobbed up and down, but the woman beneath it said nothing.  "Are you all right, Elpenor?"

The young man nodded also.

"Come on," said Iphicles.  "Let's get back inside, where we can talk about this in peace."

***

They found Gabrielle inside the main gate.  She followed them into a small, sunny room down a hallway from the throne room.  Iphicles closed the door.  Xena glanced curiously around the chamber, which appeared to be the king's study.  She spied a table strewn about with scrolls, quills, and bottles of ink.

"Sit down, please."  Iphicles gestured for the four others to sit, which they did, although uneasily.  "Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"No, thank you," said the veiled woman.  "Elpenor and I are fasting until the funeral for Stavros is over."

"Of course," the king said swiftly.

As if aware of the others' disquiet, the mourning woman drew off her black veil and folded it neatly in her lap.  She looked tired and sad, but remarkably composed, given the circumstances.

"I'm Hemera," she said in a quiet, beautiful voice.  "Stavros was my husband."

Xena scrutinized the widow who had drawn such enmity from the crowd.  Hemera had a heart-shaped face, framed with a tangle of soft, brown curls.  Her hair picked up the sunlight, giving it a golden sheen.  She had eyes of the same honey-brown color and the very pale skin of a wealthy woman who rarely ventured out into the sun.  Her undecorated gown of white silk spoke of luxury, a woman with the means to afford formal mourning attire.

Hemera gestured to the youth at her right.  "This is Elpenor, my son," she said.  Even without the introduction, Xena would have identified the young man as offspring of Stavros.  Elpenor had his father's striking bone structure: the high cheekbones and forehead, the beautiful jaw, the wide-set eyes.  His neatly cut hair waved, the color a gold-streaked brown.  Eyes as vividly blue as Xena's own blazed beneath thick eyebrows.  Like Hemera, Elpenor didn't seem to have slept recently, but he wore an alert expression nevertheless.

"This is Xena," said Iphicles, "and this is Gabrielle.  They're friends of mine, and they're helping me get to the bottom of this."

Hemera nodded.  "Thank you for defending me today," she said to Xena.  "Those people—they loved Stavros and almost thought of him as an immortal.  Please don't be angry with them."

"Hemera," said Iphicles, "I know this is a difficult time for you, but we need any help you can give us.  Do you know where Stavros went after the play last night?"

"The Temple of Apollo," said Hemera promptly.  "He always went there to give thanks after a performance."

"Alone?" asked Xena.

A faint wave of color rose to the widow's cheeks, but her gaze didn't waver from Xena's face.  "Alone except for perhaps a priest or two.  They respected his wishes for privacy."

"And then?" asked Iphicles.

"I'm not sure," said Hemera.  "Sometimes he'd go to a tavern for supper with the other actors, but I think he was on his way home.  He was right outside our house when—"  Her voice shook slightly and she stopped speaking.  "When you came to see me last night," she said to Iphicles, "you told me there was a man in custody."

"There is," he responded, "but we don't think he's the killer."

"Why did that mob think you killed Stavros?" asked Xena.

Hemera waffled briefly.  "I—they must have—I'm not sure," she said, but color stained her cheeks.  Xena observed a dark, angry look on Elpenor's face.

"Or do you just not want to talk about it?" she pressed.  Elpenor started to stand up, but the warror gestured for him to sit.  "Hemera, we have to know everything you can tell us if we're going to find who killed your husband.  Please believe that we're not doing this to embarass you.  Nothing you tell us will leave this room.  You have my word on that."

Hemera sighed.  She seemed to collect her thoughts for a moment, then she began speaking.

"Stavros and I were betrothed as children," she said.  "Our parents arranged the match.  My father was a goldsmith.  He had wealth, but no family status, and I was his only child.  Stavros was the only heir to one of the oldest families in Corinth.  His father was a kind man, but perhaps too kind, and worse, foolish.  People took advantage of him, and by the time Stavros was nine or ten, his father had almost no money left."

Xena nodded.

"So our families agreed that if Stavros married me, my father would bail out his father.  That was my dowry."

"So his family gained money, and your family gained status," observed Gabrielle.

"Exactly," said Hemera.  "I was fourteen when we married; Stavros was fifteen."  She smiled.  "Stavros was good to me.  He was as kind and generous as his own father.  We had two children, our daughter Delia, and Elpenor.  Stavros was a wonderful father to both of them."  Xena glanced over to see Elpenor visibly fighting tears.

"My father had thought to train Stavros as a goldsmith, but he had no talent for either the craft of making jewelry or the business of selling it.  Stavros lived for the stage.  So I apprenticed to my father, and as soon as Elpenor was old enough to learn, so did he.  We ran the business together after my father died three years ago, which brought in money and left Stavros free to pursue his acting."

Xena kept nodding.

"A few years after Elpenor was born, Stavros realized... well, I think he'd always known, but..."  Hemera faltered, as if unsure how to continue.

"Do you want me to tell them?" her son asked.

"No," said Hemera, taking a deep breath.  "Stavros... he loved other men," she said simply.

Xena nodded.  She'd had such men in her armies, although she'd mostly recruited those she could control with her sexuality.

"He never intended to hurt or betray me," said Hemera.  "He cared about me, and he loved our children, but he could never love me the way men love women.  He would never shame our families.  To my knowledge, he took no lovers until after our parents had died.  We... had an... arrangement," Hemera concluded, turning red again.

"Both of you could see whoever you wanted, so long as you kept it discreet?" asked Xena.

Hemera nodded.  "It may seem odd, but it worked.  Our daughter married and moved to Nauplia," she said.  "Nothing we did affected her.  And Elpenor never held his father's... tastes against him."

The widow gazed at the shafts of golden sunlight that streamed into the room.  "About a year and a half ago, Stavros introduced me to Melisseus," she said softly.  "And for the first time in my life, I knew how it felt to be in love with a man."

"And you never thought to leave Stavros?" asked Xena.

"Never!" said Hemera vehemently.  "I loved him; he was one of the best friends I've ever had.  He was honest and hard-working and a wonderful father..."  Her voice shook, and she dropped her head.  "Forgive me," she said wearily.  "I'm getting maudlin."  She lifted her head again.  "And Stavros loved me so much... he wanted me to be happy.  He thought Melisseus and I would get on well, so he introduced us deliberately.  They were good friends, and Stavros knew he could trust Melisseus to be discreet."

"I understand," said Xena, her voice quiet, her mind rapidly assembling the pieces of this most peculiar puzzle.

"But discreet or not, people guess," said Hemera.  "They always do.  But they wouldn't say anything while Stavros was alive—they loved him too much and probably thought his private life was his own business.  But now they must think I had Stavros murdered so I could marry Melisseus."

"Where were you last night?" asked Xena.

"After the play, I went home," said Hemera.

"Was anyone with you?" Xena continued.

"Only me," said Elpenor.

"What about Melisseus?" asked Xena.

"No, he would never come to the house on such a public night," said Hemera.  "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"So you don't know what he did last night?" said Iphicles.

"No, I have no idea," Hemera responded.

"That makes things look even worse for both of you," Xena said grimly.

"Xena," said Gabrielle, "what about the amulet?"

"Oh, yeah."  She fished into her bodice and produced the half-sun amulet.  "Do you know what this is?" she asked, showing the ornament to Hemera.  "Stavros was wearing it."

"That's odd."  The widow frowned.  "It looks like half a sun.  I could understand Stavros wearing a sun amulet—he was devoted to Apollo.  But a half-sun?"

Elpenor examined the amulet carefully.  He turned it over, then made a small noise of surprise.

"Look," he said.  "That mark?  It's _delta_.  Diodores the Silversmith used to mark his work that way.  He must have made this."

"Diodores was killed last year," said Gabrielle.

"We know—we sold the last of his stock," said Elpenor, glancing at the king.  "The money was taken to Crete, where his kin lived.  But this is his work.  He must have made it before he died."

"Do you know if Stavros had any lovers recently?" Xena asked Hemera.  "Did someone give this to him?"

"I don't know," she responded.  "He kept his private life to himself."

"We need to talk to anyone who might know where he went after the play last night," said Xena.  "We should start with the other actors."  Perhaps, she thought, Stavros had taken a lover among his fellow-thespians.

"Start with Metion," suggested Iphicles.  "If anyone would know, it's him."

They all stood.  Hemera twisted the veil in her hands.  "I'd like to wash and shroud Stavros now," she said calmly.

"Of course," said Iphicles.  He summoned two guards and his own personal servant to assist the widow in her joyless task.

***

"No," said Metion.  "No, I have no idea where he went last night after he left the temple."

The actor who'd directed the previous night's play seemed older now, less boyish.  Like so many others in the city, he didn't seem to have slept well, and his sandy hair stood up in disarrayed clumps on his head.

"But did he go to the temple?" Iphicles asked.

"Yeah, he went by himself," said Metion.  "I saw him go in, then I took off for Liber's tavern with the rest of the troupe.  We waited for him, but he never showed up.  We thought the mob must've scared him away."

Xena drew out the half-sun amulet and showed it to Metion.  He examined the medallion, nodding.

"That was his," Metion confirmed.  "He wore it under his clothes, always.  I asked him once if it wasn't a dishonor to Apollo to wear only half a sun.  He winked and said—" the actor's features suddenly shifted, and he looked for a moment so uncannily like Stavros that the dead man's spirit might have entered his body—"'the second half is worn by another devotee, as a sign that we're bound together in our service to Apollo.'"  Metion's face once again became his own.

"But you didn't know who that devotee was?" asked Gabrielle.

"No, he never told me.  He must've been serious about it," Metion remarked.  "He had that amulet for a year."

"It fits," commented Xena.  "We know that Diodores the Silversmith made the amulet before he died, and that was a year ago.  So Stavros had this lover for at least a year, maybe longer."

"And you never saw him?" Iphicles asked.

Metion shook his head.  "No.  I didn't pry into his personal life.  I'm sorry I didn't; I might have learned something useful."

***

Xena, Gabrielle, and Iphicles next stopped at the beautiful Temple of Apollo.  The nervous priest on duty didn't want to talk about the previous night, but after some gentle pressure from the king, he finally relented.

"He was in here," he said, leading the threesome into a secluded inner chamber.  "We always left him alone, of course."

The room had no other doors.  "You must have seen Stavros leave," said Xena.  "Did he leave through the front of the temple?  Did anyone see him?"

"People who admired him would often wait outside.  He used the private door to the priests' quarters and left through the side door.  I let him out myself."  Sadness creased the man's face. "I may have been the last person to see him alive."

_Apart from whoever killed him, Xena thought grimly._

***

They decided to check Liber's tavern, to be sure that Stavros had not gone there after he left the temple.

They found the building half-destroyed.  Outside the tavern, three young men repaired a badly damaged wall.  Inside, a woman swept up a pile of broken crockery, an adolescent girl mopped the floor, and pair of boys repaired broken tables and benches under the guidance of a man who looked old enough to be their great-grandfather.

A middle-aged man popped up from behind the bar.  "We're closed," he barked, then stopped short.  "Your majesty," he sputtered.  Regained his composure, he demanded, "Couldn't you keep a better handle on those ruffians?  This whole confounded festival was your idea; I should think you'd have had enough guards to keep the crowds under control!"

"What happened?" asked Iphicles.

"Happened?!  A mob is what happened!  It was just an ordinary, busy night until these crowds started showing up, looking for a free dinner."

"Free dinner?" Xena echoed.

"Yeah, seems some troublemaker went around yelling that the food was free and the drinks were on the house.  In all the taverns, they said!  It's amazing there's a single tavern standing in the city, and that's—"

"Wait, wait," said Gabrielle.  "Did they use those exact words?  'The food is free and the drinks are on the house?'"

"Yeah," said Liber, looking confused.  "Is that important?"

"It might be," said Xena.

While Iphicles talked reassuringly with the barkeep, Gabrielle drew Xena aside.  "That's _exactly what I wrote on the scroll Aphrodite enchanted," she whispered.  "I wrote 'the food is free and the drinks are on the house.'  And the ale started pouring out of the ceiling."_

"And Joxer is the only other person who'd know about that," Xena murmured back.

"So why would he run around Corinth telling everyone that the taverns were serving free food?"

"To create a distraction, probably," Xena speculated.

"To cover for Jett?"  Gabrielle's voice echoed her dismay.  "Do you think he knew Jett was going to—"

Xena gestured subtly for Gabrielle to be quiet.  Iphicles re-joined them.  "What's up?"

"We may have something," the warrior said in a low voice.  "Come on."

***

Joxer sat on a bench in a corner of his cell, silent and stubborn as a mule.  Without his silly armor, he looked young and small.  On the floor sat an untouched tray of food—whether this reflected lack of appetite or represented a form of protest, Xena couldn't be sure.

"Joxer," she said, hunkering down so she could meet his eyes.  "We know Jett is in the city somewhere.  Did someone hire him to come here and kill Stavros?"

No response.

"Did you create a distraction last night to cover for him?" Xena pressed.

More silence.

"Do you know where he's is hiding?"

Joxer stared up at the ceiling.

Impatiently Xena lunged, jabbing her fingers into the pressure points on Joxer's neck.  She waited.  His face grew pale, then blue, and his eyes bugged out.  But still he said nothing.  At the last possible moment, Xena released the pressure points.  Joxer sagged against the wall, gasping.  A trickle of blood ran down from his nose.  The warrior sighed inaudibly.  Joxer knew full well she'd never kill him; trying to scare him had been an exercise in futility.

"Joxer," said Gabrielle from outside the cell.  "We understand that you want to protect your brother, but he may have killed someone.  Keeping quiet isn't going to help him.  It's only going to make it worse when we find him."

The young man stared for a moment at the woman he loved, then he lowered his gaze to the floor without comment.

Xena shook her head and let herself back out of the cell.

***

"Stubborn wretch," she muttered.

"What do you want me to do about him?" asked Iphicles.

"Nothing, for now," said Xena, picking up a piece of dried meat.  She and Iphicles sat alone at the lunch table; Gabrielle had left already for the bard competition.  "He knows we won't torture him.  We'll never get a thing out of him.  He must be protecting Jett.  I've never seen him clam up like this."

"It's funny, isn't it?" the king mused.  "People will defend their family, no matter how foolish or dangerous they are."

"Yeah."  Xena frowned, staring out into the courtyard, mentally re-sorting the jumbled collection of clues.

"Who does Jett usually work for?" asked Iphicles.  "Kings?  Warlords?"

"Anyone who'll pay him," said Xena.  "I don't imagine he's too fussy.  He'd been hired to murder Cleopatra once, and—" she stopped talking abruptly.  After a moment, she sat up straight in her chair.  "We've been looking at this all wrong.  We're focusing too much on Jett and not enough on Stavros."

"How so?" the king inquired.

"Why would an actor be a target for assassination?" asked Xena.  "Did he have political connections?  Did he have enemies?"

"Not that I know of," responded Iphicles.

"Maybe Stavros wasn't the intended victim at all," Xena went on.  "Maybe it was Melisseus."

The king stared at her blankly.  "Why?"

"Think about it.  Stavros and Melisseus looked enough alike so that someone might've mistaken one of them for the other, especially at night.  They were about the same height and build, and they had almost the same coloring.  And Melisseus was known to be having an affair with Hemera, so it would make sense for him to be outside her house."

"Gods."  Xena could see the implications of her remarks beginning to dawn on Iphicles.  "You could be right.  And if Melisseus had died—"

"The new amphitheater," said Xena.  "What would have happened to it?"

"It might've been built eventually, but without Melisseus, we'd have been set back at least a year, if not more.  Good builders aren't always easy to find, and the best ones usually need a year or two before they can commit to a big project."

"And who'd benefit most directly if the amphitheater didn't get built?"

"King Periander," said Iphicles, his brow furrowing angrily.  "That bastard."

"He could easily have hired Jett," said Xena, thumping her fist on the table.  "Gods, why didn't I think of this earlier?" she almost shouted.  Lowering her voice, she added, "Jett was imprisoned in Megarid after he tried to kill Cleopatra."

"So Periander would've had the authority to release him," said Iphicles.  "And he probably let Jett out of prison on condition he kill Melisseus."  Iphicles called for a guard, and when one appeared, he ordered, "Go find Melisseus and bring him here.  Tell him I want to see him.  It's important."  The guard nodded and left with alacrity.

"So this is why Periander ignored everything I told him," said Iphicles, fuming.  "He figured it'd be easier to sabotage my work than to run Megarid honestly.  Well, he won't get away with it, not over my dead body."

"Joxer must have found out about this, somehow," Xena speculated.  "But I can't imagine him creating a distraction to cover for a murder."

"Maybe he wasn't," said Iphicles, rising.  "Maybe he was trying to make it more difficult for Jett, giving Melisseus a chance to get lost in the crowd."

Xena stood also.  "You're right," she said.  "And when he found Jett had killed the wrong man, he grabbed the knife and took the blame.  You already know Joxer; you know he'd never kill anyone, so he knew he'd be safe."

"He's smarter than he looks."

"Let's hope he's not too smart for his own good," said Xena.  "I'm going to the bard competition."  The king nodded.  She hurried from the great hall and up to her room in the guest quarters.  Jett shared his twin's fascination with Gabrielle, and Xena wouldn't put it past the assassin to slip into the bard competition.  She changed back into the plain blue gown, covering her head with a scarf of the same color.

As Xena rounded a corner on her way out, she almost ran into someone coming in the other direction.  

"Excuse me."  Medon swiftly side-stepped the warrior and continued on his way, but not before Xena saw the guard's sallow face, and eyes swollen red from weeping.

***

"This is the story of Cecrops, the lost mariner of Athens."

Gabrielle stood on the stage under the bright mid-day sun.  Throngs of people crowded the square to watch the bard competition, now well under way.  Gabrielle was one of the last contestants.  Over on one side, beneath a shaded canopy, sat Metion, pressed into service as the judge of the event.

Xena milled slowly about the edges of the crowd, keeping her eyes open.  With one corner of her mind, she listened to Gabrielle's recitation, but the larger part of her attention focused on scanning faces, looking for anyone who might be Jett in disguise.

Gabrielle continued with her narrative.  People laughed and cheered when she described Xena's leap from the island to the mariner's cursed ship, considerably exaggerating the distance the warrior had flown through the air.  Xena paused in her surveillance.  _It was a long jump, but it wasn't **that** far!  She'd have to talk to her friend about toning down the hyperbole in these stories._

Xena kept searching the crowd, anonymous in her ordinary dress and scarf.  Then she paused, taking another look at Gabrielle.  The bard gesticulated with her Amazon staff as she spoke, and it seemed to Xena that Gabrielle's gestures swept from right to left rather emphatically.  The warrior moved closer to the stage.  Without breaking the rhythm of her story, Gabrielle caught Xena's gaze and moved her eyes deliberately to the left.

Keeping still, Xena slowly turned her head to the right, following her friend's line of vision.  She saw, over on the edge of the crowd, an unremarkable young man in nondescript homespun clothing.  His eyes never wavered from the woman on the stage.  Slowly, cautiously, Xena began to inch her way toward him.

"…and the storm pelted down from the sky, lashing the ship with Poseidon's wrath—"  Gabrielle gave her staff a furious shake.

Xena moved closer in Jett's direction.

"…when suddenly an enormous wave crashed over the ship, knocking everything down with its force, cracking the mainsail in two!"

Gabrielle let fly with her staff.  The weapon shot straight through the air like a javelin.  As the crowd gasped, the wooden shaft struck Jett squarely in the forehead.  He wavered for one astonished moment on his feet, then toppled over.  Xena sprang toward him, pushing people aside as she ran.

"He's hurt!" she heard someone say.

"Leave him alone," Xena said, reaching Jett at last.  She got an arm under the assassin's prone form and hauled him up.  "He's mine."

A second figure pushed its way through the crowd to Xena's side.  "Here, let me help you," said Eumelus.

"Thanks."  Xena kicked Gabrielle's staff up into her hand and hurtled the weapon back toward the stage.  The bard hadn't missed a beat of her story, and most of the audience barely noticed the commotion with Jett.  She caught the staff in her hands and continued her narrative.  As Xena carried away the unconscious hit man, aided by the king's lieutenant, she heard Gabrielle finish the story, amidst wild applause from the appreciative crowd.

Part IV

"Strip him," ordered Xena.

Eumelus and his men swiftly set to work, removing the assassin's clothes.  Xena examined each garment carefully as Eumelus handed it to her.  Jett remained unconscious, blissfully oblivious to the proceedings.  Outside the cell, Joxer watched uneasily, Gabrielle at his side.

"Ah!" said the lieutenant, removing something from Jett's belt and handing it to Xena.

"What is it?" asked Iphicles.

"A hollow reed."  Xena held up the small tube, only about the length of her hand and peered through it.

"Is this important?" the king inquired.

"Yeah," said Xena.  "You can blow darts out through one of these.  Poisoned darts."

"You think that's how he might've killed Stavros?"

"Possibly," she said, glancing at Joxer.

Jett also carried a knife in each boot, but both weapons were clean.  Xena found a collection of lock-picks in one heel, which she took the liberty of removing.  The rest of his clothing yielded no further clues.  Xena ordered the guards to re-dress the hit man, and she left the cell with her companions.  Now they'd have to wait until Jett regained consciousness.

***

"Who hired you?" asked Iphicles.

Jett said nothing.  He gazed up at the king and smirked.  Despite his imprisonment, despite the colorful bruise on his forehead, the assassin's façade of bravado had not cracked.

"You know," said Iphicles, hunkering down to Jett's eye level, "I could just hang you and be done with it."

"You won't," Jett sneered.  "You're too _humane_ for that."

"You really think so?"  The king straightened up.  "Then I'll have you escorted back to Periander and let him deal with you however he pleases."

Xena saw the hit man visibly jolt at the mention of Periander's name, and fear briefly flashed through his eyes.  Jett did not relish being shipped back to Megarid's king, his mission a failure.

"Think about that," said Iphicles.  "You talk, and I'll keep you here.  But if you don't say anything by first light tomorrow, you're going back to Megara in chains."

Iphicles motioned for a guard to let him out of the cell.  As the door swung shut behind him, a flurry of noise from outside the prison area became audible.

"Your majesty."  Eumelus burst into the cell block, clearly agitated.  "Come quickly—you're not going to like this."

***

"Oh, no!" said Gabrielle.

Iphicles cursed under his breath.  He asked Eumelus, "Where'd you find him?"

"A woman who runs a stall in the marketplace found him, stuffed between her storage baskets."

Xena had already set about examining the dead man's body, which the king's guards had brought down to the basement room where she'd examined Stavros.  Jett remained locked up; Joxer had been released from his cell, but Iphicles had forbidden him to leave the palace.  He'd been taken to a room upstairs while Gabrielle and Xena helped the king deal with this new mishap.

"He's cooling off, but there's a little warmth left in him," said Xena.  "He hasn't been dead long."  Since about the time of the bard competition, she thought.  Around the same time they'd apprehended Jett.

The guards helped Xena to strip the clothes off the cadaver.  As they removed the tunic, Gabrielle caught her breath.

"By Zeus," Iphicles growled.

Silently, Xena slipped off the chain and eased it over the dead man's head.  Silver gleamed in the torchlight as the warrior held up the half-sun medallion so that everyone could look at it.  She turned it over and noted the tiny _delta etched into the back._

"This is the other half," said Xena.

"So Medon and Stavros were lovers?" asked Gabrielle doubtfully, gazing down at the dead guard.

"It looks like it," Xena responded, turning her attention from the amulet to Medon's body.  With Iphicles and Gabrielle assisting her, she gave this corpse the same careful scrutiny she'd given Stavros.  She found nothing on the front of his body, but when the three of them turned Medon over, the warrior immediately spotted a tiny drop of blood under his left shoulder blade.

Gingerly, Xena took a square of linen and dabbed away the blood, revealing a tiny puncture wound, the kind that might be made by a fine, sharp object, such as a needle—or a dart.

She looked over Medon's body carefully to make sure she hadn't missed anything, but she felt certain that this tiny pin-prick held the answer.  Like Stavros, Medon seemed to have died swiftly, with no obvious indicators to the cause of his death.

"That's it," said Xena, pointing to the spot.  "That's how he died."

"Impossible," said the king.

"He was probably poisoned," Xena speculated.  "Jett must've shot something at him through that reed, maybe a poisoned dart."

"You think this same poison was on the knife that killed Stavros?" asked Iphicles.

"If it's poison, it works faster than anything I've ever seen."  Xena went to a table where some tools lay, and selected a small, sharp dagger.  She made a tiny incision at the site of the puncture wound, slipped the knife down into the cut, and gingerly probed around.  This process fascinated Gabrielle, and she didn't notice that Iphicles had left until he returned with a small wooden box in his hands.

"What're you doing?" he asked Xena.

The warrior had teased something up out of Medon's flesh.  "Finding this," she responded grimly.  "Careful, don't get too close."  Xena didn't want either of her friends accidentally pricking a finger on the tiny conveyor of death.

They stared at what seemed to be a needle, covered with blood, about the length of Gabrielle's small finger.

"Porcupine quill," announced Xena with satisfaction.  "Jett must've coated it with poison and blown it out through that reed.  It was just under Medon's skin."

"I'm glad we got to Melisseus before Jett," said Iphicles soberly.  The king's men had found the builder in his home, and they'd escorted him back to the palace, where he now waited comfortably in the guest wing until the mysterious deaths were solved.

"What's that?" asked Xena, nodding toward the box Iphicles held.

"The knife," he said.  "Something about it's been bugging me."  He raised the lid.  "I finally realized what."  Iphicles held up the murder weapon.  "Look."

The two women stared at the knife.  "The blood's still wet," said Gabrielle.

"Yeah," he said.  "All that time after we found Stavros, the blood should've been drying, but it wasn't."  Xena silently cursed herself for not having observed the same phenomenon.

"How can that be?" asked Gabrielle.  "The blood's still fresh.  It should be dried now and flaking off the knife."

Slowly, Xena reached out and took the knife from Iphicles.  She looked the blade over, then returned the weapon to the wooden box.  "Only if it came from a mortal," she said.  "A person or an animal.  But not if it's from an immortal."

"An immortal?" Iphicles echoed.

"The blood of an immortal won't dry," said the warrior.  "An immortal or a god."

"A god?" said Gabrielle, a look of comprehension crossing her face.

"Yeah," said Xena.  "I think that's Ares' blood.  Hercules once warned me that Ares has poisonous blood.  It kills mortals instantly."

"Big surprise," Gabrielle muttered.

"Terrific," scowled Iphicles.

"Xena, do you think Periander's working for Ares?" asked Gabrielle.

"He could be," said Xena.  "That would explain why Periander's trying to build up an army."

"And sabotaging Corinth to draw more money into Megarid, so he can finance it," the king snarled.

"There's more to it than that," said Xena, her mind rapidly filling in the missing pieces.  "You helped negotiate a peace agreement between Athens and Sparta.  You tried to discourage Periander from military buildup.  You've made Corinth rich through trade, not plunder, and you've ruled humanely.  All those are things that Ares would hate."

"And Hercules is my brother," he sighed.  "The gods love to hurt him through his family.  Wonderful.  I used to be a target for village bullies because of him, and now I'm the target of gods."  An edge of self-pity had crept into his voice.

"You don't have to be," said Xena, glaring at him.  "We can defeat Ares by stopping Periander."  She nodded toward the knife.  "Jett got that blood from somewhere," she said.  "Is there a temple to Ares in Corinth?"

"No!" said Iphicles, looking appalled at the thought.  "There's a small shrine near the south gate," he said.  "Nothing fancy.  An old soldier in town takes care of it."

Gabrielle's face grew very still.  "The metalsmith?"

"Yeah," said Iphicles, startled.  "Deucalion.  How'd you know?"

"He has a little figure of Ares in his shop."

"Sounds like it's time to pay him another visit," said Xena.  She flashed a feral grin.  "I think my sword needs sharpening."

The threesome hurried up to the main level of the palace.  As they headed for the main gate, Domesticles, the king's seneschal, rounded a corner and called to them.

"Your majesty!  There's a young man here, begging for an audience with you."  Domesticles wrung his hands.  "He's injured, and probably dying.  He says he needs to tell you something before he—before he—"

"Where is he?" said Iphicles.

"Here... I had the guards put him in here."

*** 

Xena smelled the wound before she saw it.  Her heart sank when she knelt down beside the young man, who lay on a sofa in one of the first floor common rooms.  Fever glazed his half-closed eyes and drained the color from his skin.  Sweat leaked from his pores, redolent with the stink of death.  He breathed shallowly, and he barely seemed conscious.

Xena lifted the crude dressing and winced at the wound in the man's side.  With proper cleaning and binding, or cauterization, he might have recovered from this.  But infection had gotten too firm a hold.  The original wound site oozed a greenish pus, which accounted for the fetid smell, and the flesh around the gash had turned a mottled brownish-purple as tissue died.  The rot extended well up the young man's torso and down toward his abdomen.  

Servants brought two basins of water and clean linen bandages.  Xena lifted the youth's body so that the servants could ease off the dirty, blood-crusted tunic.  Gabrielle soaked a cloth, and without flinching, began to clean the wound.  She handed the soiled linens to Joxer, who'd come into the room, evidently drawn by the commotion.  He rinsed out the cloths in the second basin.  Xena knew they couldn't help the injured man, but they could make his dying moments comfortable and lessen the horrible smell.  She studied the young man's clothes, and a sudden thought struck her.

"Jehan?" she asked, moving up to his head.  She took a damp cloth from Gabrielle and washed the boy's face.  He groaned softly, and his blue-gray eyes fluttered open.

"How did you...?" he whispered.

"I met your friend, the carpenter's apprentice," she said.  "He told me what happened."  Xena fought the urge to scold the youth for not having had the wound tended properly.  She motioned Iphicles to her side.  "The king will listen to whatever you have to tell him," she promised.

"You will?"  The shepherd looked beseechingly up at Iphicles.

"That's right," he said.

Feebly, Jehan reached up and handed something to Iphicles, a small, ripped scrap of fabric.  Xena noted the distinctive weave of the material, good quality linen, brown threads meshed with light blue to create a subtle, pleasing cross-hatched texture.

"I tore this from the shirt of a murderer," Jehan whispered.  He paused, gasping slightly from exertion.  Xena could tell that every breath tortured him.  "I looked everywhere for him, but I couldn't... I couldn't..."  He stopped speaking again, and a tremor shook his frame.  Iphicles kept the boy's hand in his own, squeezing it tightly.

"Come on," he coaxed.  "You've made it this far."

"I've heard you're an honest man."  Jehan finally continued, clutching the king's wrist with both hands.  "Please, find this monster and bring him to justice.  His name is Sciron.  He was once a soldier, and he was imprisoned by old King Autesion for treason.  But he must have escaped.  Sciron took revenge on the woman who denounced him: his wife, Lavinia.  I saw... saw him murder Lavinia with his own hands."  

Gabrielle paused in her work, glancing at Xena with wide eyes.  Beside her, Joxer sat frozen and pale.

"How do you know it was Sciron?" Xena asked quietly.  "You must have been a child when he was imprisoned."

"I heard... heard him when he... I heard him roaring that this was the price she paid for betraying him to Autesion... heard her screaming for mercy..."  Jehan shook with violent coughs.  Xena used the cloth to wipe his mouth, noting that the infection must have spread to his lungs.

"I ran into the house and tried to stop Sciron, but he wounded me.  I grabbed at him and tore his shirt as I fell, but he pushed me away and hobbled off.  Even with his bad leg, I couldn't catch him because of this..."  Jehan nodded down at his wound.  "I searched as long as I could, but I couldn't keep going.  There's no honest lawmen in Megarid... so I came here."

Iphicles kept rubbing the young man's hand.  Xena could see how profoundly Jehan's trust moved him, how the boy's simple faith that Iphicles would bring Sciron to justice had driven him mile after mile to the Corinth palace gate.  Silently she liberated the linen scrap from Jehan's hand and began to withdraw.  The dying youth held the attention of everyone in the room.

"And this is true?" said Iphicles.  "You swear by all the gods that this is true?"  A man on his deathbed would not imperil his soul with a lie in the gods' names.

"It's true, I swear it."  An expression of profound peace settled over Jehan's features: he'd accomplished his mission.  His body relaxed completely, and he exhaled a long, deep sigh.  He lay motionless on the sofa, in the utter stillness of death.  Iphicles closed the shepherd's eyelids and stood.  "Take him downstairs and have him washed and dressed for burial," he ordered the servants, gazing about the room.  "Where'd Xena go?"

Gabrielle shook herself out of a painful daze.  "I didn't even know she'd left."  She too stared about the room as the servants bore away Jehan's body.  "And where's Joxer?"

***

"Hi," said Xena, ambling into the forge.  The fire had been banked, and Deucalion stood at a workbench in another part of the shop, carving knife handles.  A pile of wooden shavings lay on the countertop.  The metalsmith had removed his leather apron and it hung from a peg on the wall behind him.  Xena glanced briefly at his well-made linen tunic, noting the nubby texture created by the criss-crossed weave of brown and blue threads.

"Hello."  Deucalion stood up, smiling at Xena, clearly pleased to see her again.  "Anything I can help you with?"

"I'd like another look at those throwing knives."  Xena favored the metalsmith with a seductive expression.  "I got lucky at dice last night."

Deucalion limped over to the wall of knives and found the leather gauntlets.  With his back turned, Xena could easily see where the torn hem of his tunic had been patched and repaired.  He handed the gauntlets to Xena, who grinned and removed the pair of little knives.  "Mind if I try them out?"

"Not at all."  Deucalion returned to his work.  Xena took the knives and made a few practice throws at the wooden block in the corner.  After her third trial, she went casually over to the block to retrieve the weapons, which she tucked back into the leather sheathes.  As she did, she glanced briefly at the wooden shelves along the wall, and in one subtle motion, she removed the figure of Ares from its shelf.

"I'll take these," she announced, dropping the gauntlets onto Deucalion's workbench.  She held up the figure of Ares.  "Is this for sale?"

"No, that's personal," the metalsmith responded, reaching out a hand.  Xena stepped playfully back and pretended to admire the small stone carving.

"What a beauty," she said.  "The likeness is remarkable."

"You... know him?" asked Deucalion cautiously.

"Oh, very well," said Xena, her eyes narrowing.  "Intimately, you might say."

The metalsmith seemed uncomfortable, loath to relinquish the figure, but not wanting to offend one of the war god's personal servants.  "I still can't sell it, I'm sorry," he hedged.  "It's too valuable."  He started to step out from around the workbench.

"Is it?" asked Xena, taking a step back.  "Is it worth a man's life?" she taunted.  "Or a woman's?"  She stepped back again as Deucalion advanced upon her, growing more angry by the moment.  "A king?  Or maybe just your wife—Sciron!"  She spit out his name.

"Who are you?" the metalsmith glared at her.

"Maybe you've heard of me," she said, suddenly giving him a savage kick in the abdomen.  When he doubled over, Xena brought her free hand down on the back of his head.  "I'm Xena."  She spun around and kicked Sciron in the shoulder, throwing him against the work bench, where he collapsed to the floor.  "That's for Lavinia," she said, and strode out of the shop.

***

Joxer waited outside the forge, an anxious expression on his face.  Before Xena could say anything, Gabrielle emerged from the crowds in the square, staff in hand, gasping for breath.  She must have run all the way from the palace.  A moment later, the throng of people parted to let Iphicles through.

"It's him," said Xena.  "Deucalion is really Sciron.  He's even wearing the same shirt."  Her strong fingers worked rapidly over the figure of Ares, and her face brightened when she felt the upraised sword arm twist.  With supreme caution, Xena removed the arm and peered down into the cavity of the figure.  Gabrielle, Joxer, and Iphicles gathered around her, and Xena showed them the small hidden phial of the war god's blood.  When they'd all had a look, the warrior carefully replaced the arm on the carving.

"That's it, then," said Iphicles, pulling his sword.  He took two steps toward the forge, but stopped short.  Sciron emerged from the building, walking unsteadily, but wielding a sword in his right hand.  When he saw the king waiting for him, his face twisted and contorted into a hard mask of absolute fury.  Xena's hand went automatically to her chakram.

"That idiot may have failed to kill Melisseus," Sciron told Iphicles, "but I won't fail to kill you!"  He raised the sword, and Xena saw, to her horror, that Sciron had edged the blade of the weapon with Ares' blood.

***

"Iphicles, don't!" she called, but she might well have told the wind to stop blowing.  Iphicles met Sciron's advance, easily parrying his blows.  Ordinarily, Xena would have been content to let the king fight his own battle, but even the tiniest nick from Sciron's sword would kill him.

A crowd gathered, inevitably drawn by the astonishing spectacle of the king fighting in the street with one of the most respected craftsmen of the city.  Gabrielle quickly stepped away from Xena, using her staff to hold people back.  A moment later, Joxer pulled his sword and took up a position opposite Gabrielle, keeping people away from the dueling men.  Xena had drawn her own sword as well; she kept her chakram in her left hand, prepared to use either weapon if necessary, but knowing that when she did, it might be too late.  

Iphicles fought with Sciron, keeping the bloodied sword blade safely away from him.  Anxious sweat poured off Xena as she watched the duel.  Sciron fought amazingly well given his bad leg, and Xena could see vast experience in his technique, skills honed by years on the battlefield.  Iphicles had not nearly Sciron's experience, but he parried, thrust, and blocked with the same persistence Xena had observed in his practice session with Eumelus.

The fight progressed, and Xena could see Sciron beginning to tire as Iphicles inexorably pressed the metalsmith's weakness, forcing the older man to use his injured leg again and again.  The battle had become one of time as Iphicles deflected the poisoned sword, wearing down Sciron's reserves of strength.  The years of imprisonment began to take their toll: Sciron's sword arm sagged, he panted for breath, and he sweat profusely in the hot sun.

Inevitably, his bad leg twisted under him, and he staggered to keep from falling.  Iphicles pounced in that moment and kicked Sciron's wrist.  The weapon flew through the air, and Xena lunged after it, catching the deadly thing perfectly by the handle.

A gasp rose up from the crowd, a twin sound of excitement and horror.  Xena saw that Iphicles had kicked Sciron down into sand and now stood with one foot on his back, prepared to lop the murderer's head from his shoulders.  The summary execution startled her, but Iphicles had every right: the scrap of fabric, the phial of Ares' blood, Jehan's testimony, and Sciron's own words provided proof beyond doubt of the metalsmith's guilt.

_"No!"_

Xena's head snapped to the left.  She stared, along with everyone else, at Joxer, who had issued the plea for clemency.  Iphicles didn't move his left foot from Sciron's back, but he locked eyes with the younger man, his face angry and questioning.

"Why?" he spat.

Joxer stared at the man kneeling, humbled and broken, beneath the king's foot.

"Because he's my father."

***

"Talk," said Iphicles.  "You talk, and tell me everything you know, or you'll die with your father."  Iphicles looked Jett squarely in the face.  "Do you understand me?"

The assassin nodded once, looking pale and scared.  His easy bravado had vanished when the guards had dumped Sciron into the cell next to his.  Iphicles let the hit man sweat for an hour before having Eumelus bring him upstairs.

Iphicles paced about the study.  From the way he occasionally rolled his right shoulder, Xena knew he'd pulled something fighting Sciron.  She, Gabielle, and Joxer were present at Jett's interrogation at the king's request.  Across the table from the assassin sat Archivas with a quill, ink, and a pile of scrolls, prepared to write down every word that came out of Jett's mouth.

"Where do I start?"

"From when Periander hired you," said Xena.  She sat in a chair against one wall, arms folded, a grim and unpitying expression on her face.  On the other side of the room, Gabrielle stood casually, leaning on her staff.  Joxer sat at an equal distance from both women, directly in his twin's line of vision, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Jett sighed.  "Periander let us out of prison a little over year ago.  He said he had a job for us, and if we did it well, we could both keep working for him.  He gave Dad enough money to set up a forge in Corinth, so he'd have someone in the city to keep an eye on everything that happened here."

"Was he planning all along to have you kill Melisseus?" asked Iphicles.

Jett shook his head, eying the king frankly.  "He didn't really have a plan at first.  He just wanted to ruin you.  He was jealous rotten," he sneered.  "Said it wasn't fair he had to wait until he was an old man for his rightful inheritance, and you got all _this—" Jett made a half-circle with his head, evidently encompassing the palace, the city, and the state— "just handed to you."_

Iphicles looked unimpressed.  "And?"

"When Dad told Periander about the new amphitheater, he decided to have Melisseus killed.  Dad knew about Melisseus and Hemera's fling.  So he told me to take out Melisseus and put the blame on Stavros.  Periander told us to wait until the big festival, so we'd get plenty of attention."

"And everyone was supposed to believe that Stavros killed Melisseus out of jealousy," said Gabrielle.

"Yup."  Jett looked pleased with himself.  "Until Mr. Goody-Two Boots stuck his nose in it."  He glared at Joxer.

Iphicles turned to Joxer.  "What happened?" he asked.  "How'd you find out about all this?"

"Medon was running errands for my father," said Joxer.  "He was supposed to meet Jett in a tavern and give him a message, but I was there, and he thought I was Jett, so he gave the message to me instead.  That's how I found out they were planning to kill Melisseus."

Iphicles cursed under his breath.  "Medon?  He was in on all this?"

"Dad was paying him," said Jett, relishing the king's consternation.  "He needed someone who knew Stavros, knew his routines.  Dad was buddies with most of the palace guards by then, and he knew Medon was having a fling with Stavros.  So he hired Medon to spy on him."

"And Medon went along with this?" interrupted Gabrielle, genuinely shocked.

Jett smirked.  "Bet you thought lover-boy really liked you.  Medon went after anything that moved, boy or girl, he didn't care."  Jett paused to enjoy Gabrielle's hurt expression.  "He liked money, too, wanted to live easy.  Stavros was such a dolt—he thought Medon really loved him!"  Jett convulsed with mirth.

Xena recalled that when she and Gabrielle had run into Medon their first day in the city, he'd evidently been on his way to Sciron's shop—to report to his master?  To collect money?  They'd never know for sure, now.  She thought also of seeing Medon in tears after the death of Stavros.  Perhaps the guard had cared about the older man more than Jett, in his cynicism, realized.

"Did Sciron tell you to murder Medon?" asked Iphicles.

"It went without saying," Jett shrugged, dismissing Medon's death as another assignment.  "He knew too much, the thing had been botched, he had to go."  The hit man scowled.  "I don't usually make mistakes," he added defensively.  "I thought Melisseus would be going to see Hemera—how was I supposed to know it was her damn husband?  That's great—the one time Stavros went home to his wife, it got him killed!"  Jett cackled at his own wit.

"You shot Medon with a poisoned quill?" said Gabrielle.

"Yup, blew it right out my little reed."  Jett recalled the kill with apparent pleasure.  "Wish someone'd given me a stash of Ares' blood before this; I could've made a fortune in assassinations."

The king ignored this boast.  "And your father hid you?"

"Yup."  Jett shifted in his seat.  "Little brother grabbed my knife and told me to take off.  I scooted back to Dad's place and hid out 'till the coast was clear."

"Joxer."  Iphicles turned his attention to the miserable-looking young man.  "You knew about all this."

Joxer ducked his head.  "I couldn't turn them in," he said, guilt ringing in his voice.  "I couldn't do it.  I thought I could stop them from killing Melisseus without getting them in trouble."

"So you created a distraction," said Gabrielle.  "You told everyone the taverns were serving free food and drinks."

Joxer nodded.  "When Medon thought I was Jett, he told me everything they were planning to do that night.  I thought if there was a big enough crowd and people were really worked up, Jett might lose Melisseus."

"I know where he lives, you idiot; I'd have found him anyway," Jett scoffed.

Joxer glared at his twin.  "The other thing I tried to do was follow Stavros around.  I could be a witness and say that he didn't do anything.  I followed him to the temple, but I didn't know he'd go out through the back door."

"He _always_ went out the back door," Jett snickered.  "Gods, you're so inept it just kills me."

"And look who's in prison," retorted Joxer, dark eyes gleaming in an unexpected moment of malice.  "You're not as _ept as you think you are."_

Jett sulked.

"When Stavros didn't come back out the front door, I just started wandering around," Joxer continued.  "I ran into him—" he nodded slightly in Jett's direction— "outside Stavros and Hemera's house, but it was too late.  Stavros was already dead."

"And you took the blame," said Iphicles.

"I knew you wouldn't believe it was me," said Joxer, looking resigned.

"No, I didn't, but I knew you were still involved in the whole mess," said the king.  "I wish you'd come to me in the first place with all this."

"So, what happens to me?" asked Jett, his bravado evidently on the rise again now that he'd taken enough shots at his brother to bolster his ego.  "Do I get sold into bondage or something?"  He leered at Gabrielle.

"Exile," said Iphicles, an almost brutally terse response.  "You'll be shipped out to the labor camp in our colony at Syracuse."

Jett blanched.  "No," he said, horrified.  "Anywhere but Syracuse!"

"The boat leaves tomorrow," said the king.  He went to the door and gestured for Eumelus, who'd been standing guard outside.  "Let him say goodbye to his father, then have him locked up in the barracks until tomorrow morning."  Iphicles turned to Joxer as Eumelus took away Jett.  "You can talk to your father, too, if you want."

Joxer's face tightened.  "Why?  So he can tell me how much he hates me one last time?"

"Joxer."  Xena made her voice gentle.  "I think you should do it.  For you, not for him."

"I'd rather die!"  And Joxer stormed out of the room.  The others could hear his armor clanking as he retreated down the corridor.

***

The glowing red embers of the forge provided only a dim light in the workshop.  Gabrielle stepped over the threshold and peered around.  The room looked big and empty without the vast collection of weapons.  The king's men had already confiscated Sciron's arsenal; Gabrielle knew that Iphicles planned to melt everything down and turn it into farming equipment.

Night had fallen.  After a dinner for which nobody had had any appetite, Xena had wanted to look at the king's injured shoulder.  Melisseus, his safety no longer in peril, had gone to visit Hemera.  Not knowing what else to do, Gabrielle had finally decided to seek out Joxer, and the forge seemed as good a place to start as any.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Gabrielle finally spotted him over in the corner where the practice block had stood.  Slowly she crossed the room lowered herself down to the floor next to her friend.  He remained silent for several long moments, and when he spoke, it startled her.

"He killed my mother."

"I know," said Gabrielle softly.  "I'm sorry."

"If I'd known that, I would never—I'd never—"

"You wouldn't have protected him?" Gabrielle provided.

"I shouldn't have done it anyway," said Joxer.

Gabrielle found his hand and squeezed it.  "You did what you thought was right."  

"I didn't want anyone to get hurt," he said bitterly.  "I thought I could keep the two of them from killing Melisseus without getting them in trouble.  But I couldn't do it."  Joxer threw his head back against the wall of the building, generating a loud _thunk_ as his helmet connected with the wood.  "Ow!" he said.  "I can never do anything right!"

"You did," Gabrielle insisted.  "You just tried to protect too many people.  You couldn't be in four places at once.  Nobody can blame you for not wanting to turn in your family."

"I should have."  Joxer sounded utterly wretched.  "I hate them, but they're the only family I have.  Had," he corrected.  The morning would see his father's execution and his brother's banishment.

After a while, Gabrielle said, "We saw your house."

She felt Joxer start beside her.  "I haven't been there in years."

"Not even to visit your mother?" she asked, surprised.

"No."  Gabrielle heard the tightness in Joxer's voice.  "I hated her because she couldn't protect me from _him_."

Gabrielle felt chilled.

"I remember when Autesion's men came and took him," Joxer went on.  "I ran and hid, but I could hear him screaming that he'd come back and kill her for it."

"That's terrible."

"It should've been better after that, but Jett'd already gone bad.  He always tried to be like our father, to get his approval.  He was the only one of us our father really liked.  Before he started killing people, he used to kill animals.  He tortured them.  If I tried to stop him, he'd beat me up."

Gabrielle continued squeezing Joxer's hand, hoping he'd keep talking and release the pent-up anguish.

"Mom wanted me to be a musician, like her, but I thought it was for sissies and weaklings.  I wanted to be like Jett, like my father—mean and tough."  Gabrielle could hear the self-derision in his voice.  "I wanted to be a warrior."

"So that's when you tried to join Callisto's army," Gabrielle recalled.

"Yeah," said Joxer, with a sick half-laughing noise.  "Incredible she didn't kill me for the fun of it, huh?"

"I'm glad she didn't," said Gabrielle with sincerity.

"Then I wanted to be a hero," said Joxer wretchedly.  "I wanted to be Xena.  But I'm not.  I could pretend, but I could never be like her."

"She wouldn't want you to be," said Gabrielle.  "Do you have any idea how much time she spends feeling horrible about the things she's done?  She'd never want you to be like her.  She wants you to be yourself."

"I don't even know who myself is," he whispered.

"Stop trying to be everyone else," said Gabrielle earnestly.  "Find out who you are and be that person.  You can still be a hero, Joxer.  If you give a cold man a blanket, you're a hero in his eyes.  You don't have to fight warlords or kill monsters.  That's the part people remember, because nobody sings ballads about how Xena helped rebuild someone's house after the warlord's army went through."

"You make it sound easy."

"It's not," said Gabrielle.  "Sometimes people don't even thank us.  They can be rude."  She shook her head.  "But the worst is sometimes wondering if I should even be fighting at all.  Is this the right thing to do?"  She turned her head toward Joxer's dark form.  "I could kill someone any day," she said.  "Every time I pick up my staff."

Joxer shook his head.  "But you won't.  I've seen you fight.  I wish I could be like you."

"No you don't," said Gabrielle firmly.

"I do," Joxer insisted.  "You're brave and nice and beautiful, you fight and tell stories, and everyone likes you..."

"Please."  Gabrielle squirmed uncomfortably.

"It's true."

"Well, not everyone likes what I do," said Gabrielle ruefully.  "Look at my parents."

"They're just worried about you," said Joxer.  "I could tell they love you.  If I'd had a family like yours," he added wistfully, "I'd have never left Potedeia."

"I'd have gone mad," Gabrielle responded.  "They have no imagination; they can't see beyond the village walls."

Joxer pulled himself to his feet.  "Well, at least they're not murderers!"  Gabrielle watched as he yanked off his helmet.

"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm, standing.

"Watch."  Joxer tossed his helmet into the forge.  He then stripped off the plates of ill-made armor and threw them in as well.  Gabrielle looked on in astonishment as he took the scabbard off his belt and thrust it, sword and all, into the glowing embers.  The pieces of metal turned orange, then white as they began to melt, and the leather blackened and curled.  Without the encumbrances, Joxer looked suddenly small and young, but also free, as if he'd been released from a cage.

"I never want to be like him," he said fervently, and Gabrielle knew he meant Sciron, not Jett.

"Then don't."  She hesitated, then put her arms awkwardly around Joxer.  They watched the slow destruction of his armor, until the red embers began to cool.  They stood together in the darkness, just holding each other.

***

"I can't trust anyone, can I?"

Xena paused for a moment, then resumed working, her fingers deftly massaging the knots in the king's shoulder.

"You can," she said cautiously.  "You just need to... be prudent."

Iphicles made a comical snorting noise.  "Medon was one of my best guards, and he'd have sold me out for an easy life.  My men had been going to Deucalion for a year, and they all liked his work.  Gods."  The king went rigid.  "He even sharpened _my_ sword, the bastard."

"Relax," said Xena.  "You're getting tense again."

Iphicles exhaled and forced himself to relax.  He sat in a chair in the common room of his quarters, shirtless; Xena stood behind him in her leather dress, tending his shoulder.  He'd evidently wrenched something in his upper arm while fighting and had been unconsciously clenching his shoulder muscles all afternoon.  Now the soreness extended from his neck to the small of his back.

"You always need to be careful," said Xena.  "There's too many people who like to bring down anyone in power.  It always helps to question what people say and do.  Be skeptical.  You'll learn who you can trust.  People will show you with their deeds, not just their words."

Iphicles nodded.  Xena worked her way over his back and began pushing her thumbs up under his right scapula.  He yelped.

"That's where it is," said Xena, satisfied.  She pushed again.  "Feel those?"

"_Ow!  Yeah, gods, I feel them."_

"That's where the trouble is.  Here... lean forward."  Iphicles pushed back his chair and leaned forward, resting his head on his folded arms.  With the problem area better exposed, Xena set to work with her thumbs, pushing at the knotted bunches of muscle tissue.  She loosened up the tight spots one by one.  The final, most stubborn knot, she exorcised with her elbow.

Iphicles groaned.  "Did you really need to do that?"

"Oh, yeah."  Xena worked over the area with her hands, massaging his entire back, then moving up to his neck.  After a while, she realized she was touching him more for her own pleasure than for his benefit, and she drew away.

Iphicles straightened up and turned around to look at her.  Xena's gaze dropped for a moment to the beautiful muscles of his chest and abdomen, covered with a fine pelt of dark brown hair.  She noted with a poignant twinge of both tenderness and lust that one of his nipples sat higher than its fellow.  When she met his gaze, she saw that his eyes had grown large and dilated.

"You didn't have to stop."

"How's your shoulder?" she asked, trying to deflect the tension between them.

Iphicles rolled his right shoulder, then his left, experimentally.  "Great," he said.  "Thanks."  He gestured invitingly to the chair.  "Your turn."

With a smile, Xena sat.  Iphicles brushed aside her hair and began deftly rubbing her shoulders.  He had a wonderful touch—strong and gentle at the same time.  She'd observed the same quality in the way he'd handled his horse, in the way he'd held the dying shepherd's hand.

"Trust is difficult," she said after a while.  "You can't just blindly accept what everyone says and does.  But sooner or later, you have to learn to trust your instincts and let yourself believe in other people.  Otherwise, you'll get cynical, and not recognize goodness and honesty.  And when trust breaks down," Xena concluded darkly, "it's too easy to grab for your sword in times of conflict.

Iphicles worked on her neck.  "You're right," he said.  "I could never have worked out that peace agreement with Athens and Sparta if I hadn't trusted King Menestheus to keep his word."

"There's always the threat of betrayal," said Xena.  "You have to look at every situation from as many angles as you can, think of every possibility, even ones that seem remote and crazy.  Sometimes you'll feel like you have to question everything and everyone.  But in the end you have to use your own judgment."

"And what do I base my judgment on?" asked the king.  "Instinct?  Reason?"

"Both," said Xena.  "Instinct and reason, guided by experience.  And whatever solid information you can gather."

They both fell quiet while Iphicles worked on Xena's neck and shoulders.  "You're good at this," she said.

"Thanks," he responded, pleasure in his voice.

"The most decent, principled people I know are ones that are willing to trust others," said Xena.  "It's part of what makes them strong.  And other people have to know they can trust you as well.  Think of Melisseus and Jehan and Hemera.  Hemera might've been stoned to death if you hadn't intervened.  There's a lot of lawmakers who wouldn't have looked any further than the surface evidence in Stavros' death.  They'd have convicted her and Melisseus both."

"Or Joxer," said the king.

"Or Joxer," agreed Xena.  "And think about Jehan, who came to you out of desperation, because he believed you were the only one who could bring Sciron to justice.  There's four innocent people right there who might have suffered or even died if you hadn't believed they were telling you the truth."

Xena turned around in the chair and faced Iphicles.  "Those are the people who need you.  Those are the people who depend on you to be a just leader.  Don't let one or two bad seeds ruin your faith in humanity.  I did that," she said without self-pity, "and I let myself give in to my worst impulses.  But there were still people who saw good in me and tried to show me another way in life.  But I thought they were fools, and I didn't believe them, and most of them I destroyed one way or another."  Xena reached out and took the king's hands.  "Don't let that happen," she implored.  "You don't want to live with the guilt and regret that I live with every day."

"What about Sciron?" asked Iphicles.  "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"  She could see a quiet doubt in his eyes.

"Yeah," she responded, her voice full of a terrible gravity.  "I think you are."  Xena didn't elaborate.  Many times, she herself had weighed that awful decision in battle—to show mercy or to withhold it.  Sometimes she felt absolutely certain, other times she would lie awake at night wondering if she'd made the right choice.  In the end, it all came down to judgment, as she'd told Iphicles—instinct and reason, guided by experience.

Sciron had done horrible things, things for which he'd shown no regret or remorse.  And he'd tried to kill Iphicles in public, before witnesses.  If the king spared Sciron's life, Xena knew, he would lose all credibility, both with his subjects and with his peers—enemies and allies alike.

Iphicles pushed aside the chair and drew Xena into his arms.  They kissed intensely, their passion driven by equal measures of heartbreak and happiness, by a need for solace as much as a need for love.

"I think we have some lost time to make up for," he said when they parted for air.

"That's right," said Xena, softly nuzzling his face.  "I think we'd just gotten to this point last night, hadn't we?"

"Has it only been that long?" Iphicles wondered out loud.  "What a day."  He kissed her again and took her hand.  "But tonight's gonna make up for it."  He led Xena into his bedroom and closed the door, bolting it shut against the world outside.

***

The dim light of dawn had just filtered into Gabrielle's room when she heard the door open and then Xena's footsteps.  The bard had been tossing and turning restlessly all night after Joxer's departure.  He'd wanted to put as much distance between himself and Corinth before his father's execution, and Gabrielle couldn't say she blamed him.

"Xena?"  Gabrielle sat up in bed.

"Come on," said the warrior softly.  "We need to get going."

Gabrielle got up and gathered her things.  "What about breakfast?"

"I got some food from the kitchen," Xena responded.

They went out to the stable and found Argo.  Xena briskly saddled up the mare.  Gabrielle watched her friend's calm, composed face with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.  The bard had a pretty shrewd idea of where Xena had spent the night, and she didn't understand her friend's sudden need to depart.

Still, Gabrielle said nothing as they quietly walked Argo to the north gate of the city.  A hazy layer of clouds obscured the rising sun, casting the normally bright Corinthian countryside into a dim, almost wintry gloom.  Xena mounted the horse, then drew Gabrielle up behind her.

"Xena," said Gabrielle suddenly.  "You're not doing this because of me, are you?"

"No," said Xena, a note of sadness and resolution in her voice.  "I'm doing it for him."  She tapped Argo's flanks with her heels and they set off on the road, heading due north.

***

Iphicles awoke well after dawn, at first enveloped in a warm cocoon of contentment.  But when he reached out to share this pleasure, he found only cool, empty sheets.  Alarmed, he sat up and gazed about the room.  Xena had gone, taking her armor and weapons with her.  She'd left no note, but her very absence spoke louder than words ever could.  Iphicles went to the window and looked down over the dull gray ocean.  Overhead, a gull wheeled and cried.  Dejected, the king leaned against the window casement, a deep and profound hollowness gnawing at his heart.

**~The End~**

*****

Special thanks to Suzanne Klerks and Chrisso Boulis.  Special acknowledgement to the late Ellis Peters, whose work has been such an inspiration.  Letters of comment are welcome!  Write to me at eaweek@hotmail.com.


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